Moments
by Margo Vizzini-Montoya
Summary: Peggy Carter, Agent, not coffee girl, not office gopher, not simply Captain America's girl, but Agent. Welcome to the new era that is my life...and Jack's as he gets taken along for the ride
1. Coffee

**Moments**

* * *

 **Tagline:** Peggy Carter, Agent, not coffee girl, not office gopher, not simply Captain America's girl, but Agent. Welcome to the new era that is my life.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own. All royalties and rights go to Markus and McFeely, Marvel, and ABC.

 **A/N:** In honor of Season 2 being renewed, here is the first of my one-shot series.

Enjoy.

* * *

Coffee

* * *

She was late. She was late on her first day back at the SSR.

As she was walking into the bullpen, she began to count her blessings in the hopes of boosting herself out of a foul mood.

One, she had missed Chief Thompson's morning announcements of 'edicts, assignments, and public recriminations' (according to Daniel's description at last week's luncheon).

Two, over half the office was in the conference room for what looked to be a briefing, so there was mercifully few to witness her late arrival or to gape at her unexpected return.

Three…

Well, there was really only two. She was late and had missed the beginning of a briefing and would need to play catch up. Wonderful.

Pursing her lips to keep her curses at her rotten luck silent, she set her satchel down on the chair next to Daniel's desk, as she did not know if she was to have her old one back or not, and then quietly marched over to the conference room with her shoulders square and her head high.

"And so judging by these men's unusual stock market trading on the day of the near successful Leviathan attack, we believe that they must have known something about Ivchenko's plans," Agent Fisher concluded.

"So how are we going to get these money-grubbing bastards?" Wallace asked belligerently.

Peggy remained in the doorway intently following the resulting debate between Ramirez and Daniel about how to handle that very thing. If she had been there for the entire briefing, she might have made a few suggestions of her own, but alas, that was not meant to be, and so she kept mum. For now.

Her mental scheming was rudely interrupted by a young baby-faced, slick-haired agent (a wannabe Thompson, with none of the clever cynicism and all of the obnoxious pomposity, if she was any judge). He leaned back in his chair to whisper less than discreetly, "Hey, doll, quit standing in the doorway and make yourself useful. I like my coffee black with two sugars."

Before she could summon up a fittingly cutting retort, Thompson barked out from his end of the table, "Get your own damn coffee, Matthews."

The young agent stared mouth agape at his new Chief. Carter noticed that all of the other newbies wore similar expressions, but her fellow veterans were unsurprised at this curt reprimand. It was almost as if they now considered her one of them, as if she was equal to them.

Daniel was the exception to this. He was staring with wide eyes at their interim-Chief in shock – not that he didn't believe she was an equal, but his amazement had more to do with the disbelief that Jack had so publicly demonstrated that she was no longer the coffee-girl.

Jack then went on to add, "Carter, go with Sousa. He'll explain on the way, as it is his pet theory and game plan."

Peggy could barely contain her excitement. The day was beginning to look up. She had not been in the door ten minutes and she was being sent out on a mission for something other than a deli run.

As it was almost too good to be true, she asked curiously, "While we are out and about, do you want me to pick up lunch too?"

"No, Carter," he replied with great condescension as if speaking to a toddler. "You are _not_ currently on my shit-list. _But_ if you want to stay off of it, you won't be late again."

Ignoring her slight mocking tone in her dutiful 'yes, sir', he stood up and strode for his office, tossing over his shoulder various last minute assignments, concluding with, "And Matthews?"

"Yes, sir?" was the young man's hesitant reply.

"Get everybody's lunch order today."


	2. Up to Snuff - Part A

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry for the delay, but here is the next installment : )

Enjoy.

* * *

Up to Snuff - Part A

* * *

Peggy nursed her second cup of breakfast tea while she worked on the latest batch of intercepted encryptions.

She wasn't making very much progress as the office was fairly simmering with tension. Phone conversations were muffled, and keys were quietly tapped as her colleagues worked on their reports. All were nervously glancing at the Chief's office.

Thompson had yet to do his early morning shtick, and it was nearing a quarter til ten.

Whenever Jack did come out of there, it was going to be a doozy. Dottie/Ida had gotten away again last night.

Or so, Daniel had hastily whispered when she arrived. She hadn't been called in for the emergency sting operation, as she had been given the night off to watch the premiere of Angie's first 'gig'.

She was contemplating who of the four non-hospitalized unfortunates that let Dottie/Ida slip through their fingers was the highest ranking on Jack's 'shit-list', when the boss man himself finally made his appearance.

"Listen up!" he began, his thumbs hooked in his braces. "It has come to my attention that our enemy is far better trained than us. Considering that they have been indoctrinated since an early age, this is no surprise. But I have severely underestimated its impact on our competency to engage with them when we do manage to find the bi- witches."

Peggy glanced around the room to gauge everyone else's reaction. She caught Daniel's eye and knew he was thinking the same thing – Jack, their egotistical his-shit-doesn't-even-stink Jack, was making what sounded like an _apology._

She was going to go out and by a lottery ticket today.

Everyone else's reactions ranged from vastly relieved that their asses weren't getting publicly chewed out, to affronted that he ranked their skill levels as inferior, or to skeptical as if they were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

These last were the wisest of the bunch.

"So I have brought in a trainer who will be working with each and every one of us to rectify the matter. He will begin evaluating you on your competency level this week. There will be three of these first initial groups. I will be sending out the schedule of who is in which group and when they will be. That will be all."

Over the rising din that this announcement prompted, Thompson hollered, "Carter, my office!"

Ignoring all of the eyebrows that rose in question at this curt order, she obeyed, replying meekly, "Yes, sir."

When she arrived, he was for once sitting behind the desk, rather than sitting perched on the edge of it as was his unfathomable want. As soon as she had shut the door, he looked up from the stack of papers in front of him to inquire, "You don't have any plans tomorrow night, do you?"

"No…" she replied warily. "Am I going to wish that this wasn't the case?"

His eyes lit up with boyish mirth at her discomfort, even as he explained, "Possibly. You and I are going to meet with the trainer tomorrow."

Peggy bristled at that. In her most clipped I-am-unamused voice, she asked, "And is there a reason that I am being singled for such an _honor_ , sir?"

"Oh, there are many," was his prompt sardonic reply.

"Indeed?"

With a grin, he leaned back in his chair and began counting them off on his fingers, "You, sweetheart, are the best, and if I am going to spar with anyone for the purposes of honing my own edge, it will be by the best _and_ …" Here, he paused significantly, his grin vanishing, "the most discreet."

While she was flattered by his compliment, Peggy knew when she was being buttered up. She was far more awed by the level of trust in her that he just displayed. For in that last little bit, he had revealed a weakness.

If she wanted to oust him as Chief, all she had to do was let it be known how soundly she would indubitably and repeatedly beat him in these sparring sessions. For in every power dynamic, the top dog always needed to at least have the appearance of being the best, so that all the rest would believe he was capable of defending them and any would-be challengers to his lofty position.

She gave Jack a slow nod, a promise that there would be no locker-room bragging done on her part, but merely said, "What time tomorrow?"

"Eight sharp, Agent Carter."

Thinking she was dismissed, she turned to go, but when her hand reached the doorknob, Thompson called out, "Oh, and Carter? When you are done with the encryptions, take Sousa and the two of you interview Donald. He should be awake and cleared by the doctors by then to give his report on last night's debacle."

Stifling a groan at the thought of spending the afternoon interviewing a man bound to be disgruntled by injured pride when she'd rather be scouring the last known location of their fugitive, she replied dutifully, "Yes, sir."

Her spirits lifted not two steps out of Thompson's office though. Jack was again showing his faith in her by entrusting her to question a colleague, and he had given her the perfect partner to complete the mission. Not only was Daniel a friend and amenable to following her lead, but also with his war-time injury, he might be able to put Donald at ease and then they could take a quick detour to that warehouse.

With her heels stridently click-clacking against the floor, she determinedly marched to her desk. She was going to crack that that damn code by high noon or her name wasn't Agent Peggy Carter.


	3. Up to Snuff - Part B

**Moments**

* * *

Up to Snuff – Part B

* * *

Peggy joined Jack on the edges of the mat in SSR's cobbled together in-house gym and began doing warm up stretches. She ignored his less than subtle eyeing of her outfit. (Well, if 'ignoring' means she didn't smirk knowingly at his reaction, then that's what she did).

She was tempted to though. Angie's prediction that her fitted gym shirts and tight-knit shirt were going to cause accidents if she went out running in public in them may have had more truth in it than she had originally thought if judging by her colleague's – no, _boss's –_ reaction.

Instead, she asked, "So how do you know this guy that you've brought in to train us?"

Jack cleared his throat hastily and changed his stretching position that he had been holding for too long anyways, before answering, "Oh, uh, he's a war buddy of mine. My former sergeant actually. He was in charge of whipping the greenies into shape, teaching them the dirty tricks that boot camp didn't and the West Point brat lieutenants wouldn't approve of. He's recently started his own business of training professional boxers, or he is at least trying to."

Peggy stored up all that he had just revealed about himself in that explanation – the loyalty and respect he had for his former sergeant, the identification of being of the rank and file, and the distancing of himself from the elitist officers. She stored it up and tucked it away for further consideration later.

Instead, she asked casually, "Professional boxing, huh? Anyone I might know?"

Thompson did a double take nearly giving himself a neck injury. "You follow boxing?" When her only response was an enigmatic smile, he answered, "Well, not yet, but soon, I wouldn't be so surprised."

"You better believe it!" boomed out a voice of a bald, six foot four inch, two hundred fifty pound tank of a man.

Holding his extra-large hand out, he introduced himself, "The name's Theodore Clifford. Some people call me 'Teddy' and some call me 'Cliff'. I answer to each, and you must be Margaret Carter."

She returned his hardy and firm handshake drawing on her experience of arm wrestling Dugan, and instantly liking this man, she rejoined warmly, "Well, in order to take you seriously, I'll go with Cliff. And, please, call me Peggy."

Her response caused him to let out a booming laugh, which brought a smile to her face. He really did remind of her good ol' Dugan.

That was the last that she smiled like that for the rest of the evening though. Cliff had them run through a gamut of warm-up exercises, strength-building exercises, and muscle-shrieks-of-agony-causing exercises, all to test their endurance. And then he had them spar.

Of the three matches he had them do, she only won the first one.

She had speed and skills, but Jack had the longer reach, more muscle mass, and the common sense to be wary of her now that he knew what she was capable of.

She wasn't able to do a quick assault like she had at the Automat. So she exchanged a few punches with him, and then pretended that one of his jabs made her more off balance than she was. When he went in, she side-stepped into him, elbowed him in the gut, and then hooked her leg behind his so that his doubled-over form went sprawling to the ground. Jack tapped out before she could do any further damage.

"If you had a more resilient opponent, what would you do?" Cliff asked speculatively.

Wiping sweat from her brow with the small hand towel that she had brought, she replied, "If running away wasn't an option and I needed to incapacitate him? Shoot him with my gun." Over Jack's startled protest, she continued, "if that wasn't an option, I would cold cock or kick him in the temple, praying that he wouldn't have the presence of mind to grab at me."

That last part she shouldn't have mentioned because that was exactly what he did in their second match. And when she was flat on her back and winded, he pounced and pinned her beneath him.

In attempting to be a gentleman, he gave her just enough wiggle room to flip him over. And then they were tumbling end over end, elbows and knees jabbing and jerking, as they each tried to grapple for a secure hold on the other.

Somehow they ended up in the most compromising of situations, all tangled up in each other, practically sitting in each other's laps. The best she could say about the situation was that she was not precisely pinned down, but the only thing keeping him from stunning her with a head-butt and breaking loose was her forearm pressed against his jugular as she tried to lever herself away from him.

In stalemate cases such as these, this was what her 'Sweet Dreams' was for. But she wasn't going to reveal that to Cliff or to Jack. A woman must have her secrets, after all.

At Cliff's "Alright, that's enough", they broke apart, and while they regained their feet and attempted to regain their dignity, Cliff chuckled gleefully, "You two are going to be a hoot to teach. It's gonna get downright dirty as a whoring hussy brawl."

Over Jack's muttered, "Thanks, I think," their sadistic instructor ordered with far too much amusement, "Again."

The last bout she lost. She blamed her exhaustion. Her reflexes were slower as well as her mind. When Cliff made the sudden move to stand at her six, her hindbrain screamed _Threat!,_ distracting her from Jack's right cross, which had more force behind it due to his finally getting over the fact he was fighting a woman.

She managed to deflect his assault just enough so that her nose wasn't broken, but not enough so that she wasn't sent spinning to the floor.

She was almost surprised that Jack didn't follow this with a startled, "Carter!" as she was sure his expression had been just as shocked as hers even as his blow connected. But no, the man was a quick study, and before she could right herself, he was on her, pinning her hands behind her back as if he was going to cuff her.

When Cliff called it, Jack quickly let her go, somehow managing to have the energy to stand. All she could do was roll over and stare blearily at the two of them, and when Jack offered her assistance, she wearily waved him off and waited expectantly for their evaluator's verdict.

After Jack flopped to ground next to her, Cliff let out a low whistle, stating, "You two are indeed going to be a hoot to teach." And then to her, he added, "And Agent Carter, if you would like additional lessons, I know a guy in Chinatown who specializes in teaching how to take down larger opponents. He's discreet too and won't ask questions as to why a lady would want such."

That peaked her interest. She wasn't too proud to learn new tricks, and she wasn't offended by his insinuation that she needed to. There had been no hint of condescension in his tone; just the simple acknowledgment that she was a fellow aficionado of the art.

So after arranging to meet with him and Jack again same time next week, she got the man's, Tiny Ting's, contact info.

As she was leaving, she called out over her shoulder, "Jack, stay and catch up with your buddy. I'm claiming the locker room and the shower for the next twenty minutes."

She didn't see Jack's reaction, but judging by Cliff's hardy guffaw, she would bet that it was an _interesting_ one, to say the least.

~A~

Four days later, as Peggy was tidying up for the day, Daniel called out, "Hey, Peggy, you coming?"

"Coming to what?" she asked. They hadn't closed any cases today, so there weren't any celebratory drinks at the local pub that she had agreed to go to and none that she hadn't been invited to.

"To the gym," he supplied. When she was still looking at him blankly, he explained hesitantly, "You weren't at the last two trainings, so I figured you were in the last group like me."

"Oh, no, Mr. Clifford wanted me to have my own separate session, so he lumped me in with the one he has with Jack," she smoothly replied.

Daniel's eyebrows lifted at that, his dark flashing with concern. "Oh, so how was that?"

She shrugged, "Not bad. Although, I think the Chief enjoyed repaying me for that sucker punch in the alley that day." Before he could get all huffy on her behalf at that remark, she added, "Clifford isn't a bad chap, despite what Fisher and Wallace were whinging about. I think you'll learn a lot from him."

He gave a grateful smile and then left her to her work.

When no one else was in the bullpen, Jack came out and sat on the edge of her desk, noting dryly, "Well that was nicely plaid, Carter, blaming it on the big bad sergeant."

"Oh, I think 'Teddy' can take it," she grinned at him, causing him to snort.

More seriously, Jack asked, "Do you think I oughta have invited Sousa to our session? His pride is going to be awfully chafed after being put through the wringer by Cliff."

She leaned back in her chair, surprised by the compassion that the office jack-ass was displaying for her friend, not to mention his sincere inquiry as to her opinion. After a moment of consideration, she answered slowly, "No…I think Daniel's pride would be more wounded if you _hadn't_ thought he could handle it…Better to let Cliff evaluate him and then give him the option of continuing the group lessons or to join our more private one if he wants."

He nodded thoughtfully before standing up and swinging his coat over his shoulder. With a smirk and mock bow, he declared, "Night, Carter. I look forward to finding out what you've learned from Tiny Ting."

She stared bemusedly after his jauntily whistling and retreating form. Sometimes, she could swear that he got off on their confrontations – whether it was their verbal bouts or their now more physical ones.

And Peggy wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.

* * *

 **A/N:** Next up, Peggy interrogates someone and it's all told from Jack's point of view.


	4. Interrogation

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** In honor of Red-White-and-Blue weekend...

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Interrogation**

* * *

Jack walked into the Observation Room to see Carter nursing a cup of tea as she watched the no doubt disappointing show on the other side of the glass.

"How long have you been back?" was his less than welcoming query.

"Long enough to see that you are having as fruitless a day as I," she answered with a nod to the spectacle in the interrogation room, her voice sounding as tired as he felt.

"Boston was a bust, huh?" he grunted.

Carter pursed her lips and gave a curt nod before pressing on, "Who's our latest guest?"

"Vincent 'Vinnie' Hobbes, a Belgium import-export specialist."

His answer caused her to snort. "Smuggler, huh?"

"Yes," he admitted, his lip curling in distaste. The weedy man with a cheap suit, a half a day's beard, and too long hair, which was slicked back by cheap pomade, was indeed a smuggler. Not that they could prove it – which he knew, and thus was why he was still vacillating between a knowing smirk and a far too innocent 'Who me?' expression, even after being put through the grinder.

"Who brought him in?"

"Ramirez. Rumor has it that he has snuck a thing or two past customs from Russia lately."

Carter made a noncommittal sound as they both watched Sousa point again to the file in front of him, as if by doing so for the third time would break the man. His futile action prompted Carter to observe dryly, "I take it Ramirez's _'Let's make a deal'_ approach, Daniel's _'Be the better man I know you can be'_ approach, and your many variations of the Carrot-and-Stick, all have met with little success?"

He bristled a little at the censure he heard in her tone of voice, snapping, "If you think you can do better, Marge, be my guest."

And Carter, being goddamn gracious Peggy Carter, once again showed that she could be the bigger and better man, by only saying mildly, "Well, I don't know if I can do better, but I can certainly bring something to the table that you gentlemen don't have."

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

"A skirt."

Her reply was so blunt and out-of-the-blue that it took him a moment to realize she had set her cup down and was striding for the door, asking beseechingly, "…trust you to follow my lead?"

He nodded dumbly and silently prayed that his acting ability was on par with that of Krezminski's 'office ice queen' – and also that he wouldn't come to regret that decision.

~A~

When he finally caught up, it was not the Carter that he knew. Her brown eyes were big and wide instead of narrowed in judgment. Her posture was looser somehow, not the straight and military rigid that was her usual. Most significantly, she was actually _waiting_ for him to open the door for her.

When he did, she simpered in a thicker version of her British accent, "Oh, I am so sorry for being late! That drive from Langley was just _appalling_ , Mr. …?"

"Thompson, Chief Thompson," he supplied, with more self-importance than he normally did – mostly to hide his amusement at her dramatics, both the simpering and the heavy accent, and to hide his confusion at the mention of the new headquarters for the nation's recently formed intelligence department.

Whether she noticed his confusion or his abysmal attempt to hide his smirk, he didn't know, because without a backwards glance she zeroed in on their 'guest'. Well, 'zeroed' is not quite right. Her whole attention was on him, but instead of her purposeful stride, Agent Peggy Carter _sashayed_ towards the bastard.

It took all of his professionalism (and years of his Gam-Gam's training on proper gentlemanly behavior) not to blatantly admire the swaying of those hips.

"Mr. Hobbes, I do apologize for the inconvenience of having these gentlemen bring you down here and interrupt your life. I hope that they have not been living up to the stereotype of Yankee coppers in their hospitality."

"Well, as a matter of fact, missy, they have been askin' a rather large amount of questions about my business, insinuating that I ain't on the up-and-up, while depriving me of my right to a lawyer," the weedy cur declared with as much 'righteous' indignation as a man of loose morals had any claim to.

"Now, wait a moment," Sousa cut in. "You never once _asked_ for your lawyer."

Jack wanted to beat the man with his crutch for reminding slimy Vinnie of this fact.

Carter came to the rescue though, cutting in with, "Pshaw, Mr. Hobbes, our conversation shouldn't necessitate the meddling of the barristers. MI-5 has no interest in how you conduct business in the U.S."

If he was behind the glass, Jack would have let out a low appreciative whistle. Without uttering a single lie, Carter had just made it seem that she was British intelligence – an entity that Hobbes had little to fear from as they had bigger fish to fry and he knew it.

It took Vinnie Hobbes a moment to respond to her declaration. From Jack's point of view, he could clearly see the man's gaze and dirty mind being quite preoccupied with Carter's well-endowed sauntering figure. However, Carter's use of her skirt wasn't as effective as she predicted, because when Vinnie's eyes met hers they were cool and assessing.

With an unattractive sneer, the man retorted, "Well, I ain't gonna answer any questions about my dealings across the pond either. No lawyer, no answers."

"Oh damn, these Yanks have put you on the defensive, haven't they?" She cursed with a pout. Carter then continued her role of put-out and defeated dame by cocking her hip against the table, crossing her arms like a petulant child, and whining, "I mean, it's my first real case back home, and I'm stumped. I have been trying to tell my boss that you can help me, but he doesn't believe me. And when I found out you were here, while I was, well… it was like serendipity, you know?

"But it would just be my luck that the Yanks would provoke you into lawyering up, when all I care about is _how_ you do business, not _what_ your business actually is."

Jack couldn't see Carter's face, but he would bet his paycheck that her liquid brown eyes were welling up with tears of frustration as she batted those long dark eyelashes at the poor smuggler.

He had to admire her technique. Disassociating herself from the 'bad cops', playing a little bit at damsel-in-distress, identifying with the small man against the big unappreciative bosses, and then throwing in that last hint of how he can help the poor undervalued but very attractive dame with little risk to his self. It was very impressive indeed.

He could tell the poor S.O.B. was grasping at whatever he could not to drown in those pools, when he cleared his throat uncomfortably, muttering in bewilderment, "'How' I do business, er, miss…?"

"Miss Elizabeth Carver," she supplied readily, and then with a graceful hop, she was sitting on the table, her shapely legs crossing demurely. And while the man was thus distracted, she pressed her advantage, leaning forward with conspiratorial eagerness, "And, yes, _how_ you do business, but more like how a man with your – _business acumen_ – would go about overcoming the – er – _overzealousness_ of customs' officials."

Her efforts were almost a waste, as Boy Scout Sousa was struggling to maintain his poker face, twitching at Carter's allusion to her most hated radio show with her choice of nom de plume and at her rather risqué pose.

While Jack was debating on how to get the man out of the room without his interjection of authority further damaging Carter's rapport building, she provided a solution. With a toss of her head, she leaned back and looked over shoulder to ask primly, "As this is not an official inquiry, Mr. Thomas, is it really necessary to have you _charming_ lads here?"

He scowled deliberately at her 'forgetting' his name and rank, even as he gave careful consideration to her request. Not knowing if she wanted both of them gone or not, but deciding against it (not because she was a woman and shouldn't be alone with a lounge lizard like this sleeze, but because making it too easy would mostly likely arouse the wary man's suspicions).

"Nah, we only legally need one for supervisory purposes," he admitted lazily from his slouch against the wall. With more authority, he directed, "Sousa, go and make yourself useful. Make sure Matthews doesn't botch our case on Sykes."

Sousa did as he was asked, frowning at him the whole time as he hobbled past, and because Jack couldn't resist asserting his authority or hamming up his indolent jackass boss persona, he added, "Oh, and slip my crossword puzzle under the door while you're at it."

As soon as the door shut on Sousa's muttered "yes, sir," Carter continued spinning her honeyed web, saying, "So, Mr. Hobbes, I have been meaning to ask you – do you – no, _does_ a man like you use the burn man scam, the three card Monte, or the Zanzibar marketplace to outwit his opponents?"

Her question so took Vinnie by surprise that he momentarily forgot his wariness of the Chief of the New York SSR standing in the corner, and blurted, "How does a dame like you know of shady dealings like those?"

"Oh, I picked up a thing or two while helping with the Resistance," Carter breezily and truthfully admitted.

And just like that, Vincent 'Vinnie' Hobbes was putty in Carter's oh-so-capable hands. For once she confirmed that she knew fellow French Resistance fighters from his glory days, she established their common ground on something that was more sacred and substantial than shared opinions of Yankee police officials and idiotic authority figures.

While Jack pretended to muddle his way through a crossword, he observed Carter's skillful and masterful manipulation of the man as she wheedled information out of him.

They reminisced about the Resistance glory days exchanging information on mutual acquaintances' lives, like old classmates at a reunion. This was how they learned who was still in the smuggling and fencing ring and what their connections were to the Soviets and their 'comrades'.

Carter got him to brag in hypothetical scenarios about how he had accomplished past jobs or how much of his competitors' operations he knew. Vinnie's catch-phrases of the day were " _If_ I was to have done that job, I would…" and " _If_ I were to know a fella to do that, it would be…not that I am saying who that is mind you…"

By the end of it all, they didn't have enough to charge the man but they had far more information to work with than they ever would have likely gotten with a deal for lesser charges.

Carter thanked Vinnie so sweetly for his time and willingness to help her out that the hardened crook _blushed_ as he stammered about it being 'his pleasure'.

Of course, as soon as the bright shiny 'Miss Carver' was leaving the room, the disgruntled malcontent returned and Vinnie hollered, "Hey! Can I go now, _Mr. Thomas_? Or do I need my lawyer?"

With a hand to Carter's back, he escorted her out and blatantly ignored the man.

~A~

Once they were on the other side of the door, Carter swiftly stepped away from his hand, straightened her posture, and smoothed her skirt, saying briskly, "I don't think we should hold him for too much longer. We might get more out of him, if we put a tail on him."

"Ramirez did a good job of finding him in the first place. He should be able to keep up," he concurred. "Give him a description of anyone you think he should make note of."

"Will do," she acknowledged with a nod. "Anything else?"

He considered it a moment, and then said, "Coordinate with Sousa on all the follow ups you'll need to do to confirm what oh-so-trusty Vinnie has shared, and let me know if there is anything I can to do to help."

That last bit caused her guarded eyes to widen a smidge, before she gave yet another acknowledging nod.

He shook his own head in a dismissing nod, but just as she started to walk away, he added, "Oh, and Carter? Good job," and because he couldn't resist, he went one step further and smirked, "It's amazing how handy a skirt can be in a fishing expedition."

Jack half-expected a scowl, grimace, or roll of the eyes in reaction to his patronizing tone, but instead, this woman who constantly kept him on his toes retorted with a knowing smirk of her own, "Yeah, they do cast a wide and _rewarding_ net, don't they?"

Before he could respond in kind or try to decipher if she intended a double entendre or not, she turned smartly on her heels to go confer with Sousa.

It might have been his imagination, but he could swear that there was an extra sway to her hips as she walked away.

Either way, he decided that Agent Carter was a dangerous woman whether she was suited up in full combat gear or decked out in whatever was the latest from Dior or even Sears & Roebuck. She knew how to use her assets.

He just hoped that he was able to use her as his asset to her fullest potential. He did not want to make the same mistake twice.

* * *

 **A/N:** Up next, I think Peggy will get to play white knight to a team member's damsel-in-distress.

Oh, the 3-card Monte, Zanzibar Marketplace, and burn man schemes are all referenced in _Leverage,_ another entertaining show with strong female leads.

Anywho, thoughts?


	5. Ramirez Rescue

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** Yay for return of cast! And Hayley Atwell's dubsmash victory ; )

Anywho, enjoy!

* * *

 **Ramirez Rescue**

* * *

"Carter, my office!"

Peggy silently sent up a prayer of gratitude that she had taken the time to have two cups of tea at lunch. It was never a good shift in the office when Jack started it off by bellowing at her.

Not even making the side trip to her desk to set down her purse or remove her gloves, she did as she was told, and without being told, she shut the door behind her. Jack only called her into his office to discuss business that he did not want anyone else to know about. If he didn't mind, he would sit on the edge of her desk and drawl out his orders for one and all to hear.

Once the door was shut, he blurted, "Ramirez is late checking in. He sent Palmer to follow your boy Vinnie, while he tailed the other party the weasel just had a meeting with."

She ignored the almost accusatory 'your boy Vinnie', as Jack tended to get surly when he was truly worried about his agents and as this was Ramirez, now was not the time to call him on it. Instead, she quietly and evenly asked, "How late?"

"Over an hour," he replied, and then he stood up and began to pace, even as he ordered, "I want you to take Wallace and Fisher and go see if you can track him down."

Peggy opened her mouth to ask where, but Jack cut her off, as he hastily explained, "I would have you take Sousa too but he's out following one of his infamous hunches and I think it is a good one. And I need someone to hold down the fort while I am in that _blasted_ oversight budget meeting."

She snorted softly, "If you didn't have that meeting, you would be leading the charge yourself, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," was his wistful reply as he stared out the window.

She could see in the bunched up shoulders and the clenching and the unclenching of the hand that wasn't in his pocket that Jack was all sorts of worried and frustrated. She could do nothing about his feelings of powerlessness or anxiety. To be a man of action and not able to act because your position of authority confines you to a chair must be maddening. She knew that there was nothing she could do or say to alleviate that, but she could remind him that he was doing the best he could.

"Wallace and Fisher will be sufficient," she asserted softly, and at his nod, she added, "And, Jack, you don't need to explain yourself to me. You're my boss."

Apparently, she had gone too far in the reassurance department, because he whipped around to glare at her, snapping, "I know that, Carter. I was in the Navy, if you recall, and they had the same 'how high' philosophy when it came to orders."

Before she could apologize, his demeanor changed once again. He flopped back down into his chair, and almost pleading for her understanding, he continued to explain himself. "It's just that I got a bad feeling about this, which is why I am sending two senior agents with you. I need agents I can trust to come back, to not go charging into some place half-cocked and blazing for glory because they need to prove themselves."

When his pleading blue eyes met her gaze, she held it, wanting him to know that she had received his message loud and clear. She didn't need to prove herself anymore. She had already done so, and she had better not get her or anyone else killed by thinking she did still – or he would find a way to make her afterlife _very_ miserable.

Trying not to get all _affected_ by both his confidence in her and his concern for, she briskly stated, "Alright. Where to?"

He slid a piece of paper across his desk towards her. It contained the address of the pay phone box Ramirez had called from.

While she was mentally mapping out the location, she inquired curiously, "Do Fisher and Wallace know yet?"

"No, weren't you listening? Take them with you. Start out how you are going to go, Carter," he gently chided.

She nodded and left, realizing that he was making her leader of the operation to save one of the few agents Jack would call a friend. For once, she was a little bit terrified of disappointing the man.

~A~

"This is the place?" Wallace asked as he pulled up to the curb. They were in one of New York's many late-night entertainment districts. This one catered both to the sophisticated, with its plays and musicals, and to the less so, with its dance and gaming halls and risqué gentlemen's clubs. She used the term 'gentlemen' loosely.

"Yes. That's the phone that he last called from," she pointed out the front passenger's window to the red phone box. "Per Ramirez's last check-in, he thought that the gentlemen he was tailing were waiting for someone before they went into one of these clubs."

"It's the Checkered Hall."

Both she and Wallace shot Fisher, who was sitting in the back, looks of disbelief.

"It used to be the Candied Striper," he stated as if that was all that was needed to explain his certainty.

Apparently, it was, for Wallace nodded sagely, saying knowingly, "Krezminski's old haunt?"

Fisher nodded, "Before he met his girlfriend."

Peggy eyed the Checkered Hall, saying doubtfully, "It seems to be a bit too…" She wanted to say 'classy' but as it was a strip club, that wasn't quite accurate. She finally settled on, "…upscale."

"Mhmm…Yeah, well, it got bought out and revamped." Fisher, their follow-the-money man, knowingly asserted.

"Bought by who?"

"The Ilyich brothers."

"Who have Leviathan connections," Wallace queried resignedly.

"Yeah."

At Fisher's confirmation, all three stared at the club, assessing it as if it was a fortress.

After a few moments, Carter outlined her plan, "Okay. Fisher, you'll blend in the best." Neither she nor Wallace could pass themselves off as a businessman, and the Checkered Hall's clientele this early in the day were down-on-their-luck stockbrokers who battled depression by getting their jollies off watching women sell their bodies. "See if you can get the lay of the land, while, Wallace, you scout the perimeter. I'll keep an eye out for any activity at the front from here."

Fisher again nodded, straightened his tie, and then left the car, striding towards the bright lights of the club entrance. Wallace waited a few beats before leaving to go and disappear down the dark side alley.

And she hunkered down to play the waiting and watching game.

The only thing worse would be to be in Jack's shoes right now.

~A~

The meeting had been excruciating. Hours of pontificating and verbal scrapping for budget crumbs for pet side projects or special equipment. Jack didn't even get a chance to defend his training program.

And every other tick of the second hand that slowly crawled by, all he could think about was what if it was Ramirez's last. Or would it be Carter's? Or would he be making calls to Fisher's or Wallace's wives tonight? How would he explain that he had sent them into danger while he went to a pointless meeting?

Excruciating.

So it was an enormous relief to see the wan and tired but triumphant faces of all _four_ of his agents in his office.

He had masked it, of course, and had simply grunted in true Dooley fashion, "Report."

After Ramirez had recounted how the Borislav Twins had gotten the drop on him and of their initial round of interrogation in the club's back rooms, he stated, "…And just when I thought my last sight was gonna be the ugly mug of that _chilito_ , in walks Carter – and you should have seen her boss."

Ramirez proceeded to tell of a hair-twirling, gum-smacking broad, who took one look at the scene before her - a battered and bruised man tied to a chair and two thugs – and then bluntly and brazenly states: _"If you were wanting to uglify a pretty boy's face, I could teach you a thing or two."_

"And then while their cave-men brains were trying to process that, she pops off and says to me, _'Honey, I hope you charged double for this hour of foreplay, or Sammy's gonna have more than your hide'_."

While Ramirez cherished this utterly absurd and lewd approach to a rescue operation (Jack always knew his friend had twisted sense-of humor), Wallace interjected dryly, "What I want to know is how a gal like yourself knows of Sammy, the pimp-king of queers?"

Carter responded to all of their questioning stares with a casual shrug, admitting diffidently, "It's always been my policy to be well-informed."

Over Wallace's grunt, Fisher continued their report, "Well, the long and short of it was that they were so befuddled with fury by her insinuation that Carter was able to do her own version of a blitz attack, quite effectively demonstrating her method of 'uglifying' and allowing me to extract Ramirez and meet Wally who had our escape route covered."

"Way to ruin my _punch_ -line, Fishy," Ramirez whined.

Fisher rolled his eyes not dignifying the complaint or nickname with a reply.

To Ramirez, Jack inquired concernedly, "You see the doctor yet?"

"Yeah, mommy-Marge insisted."

"He's fine. Confined to desk duty for a week or two," Carter reported.

Jack gave a curt nod, stating briskly, "Good. I expect your reports on my desk come Monday."

All nodded and began to file out, (limping in Ramirez's case). As Carter shut the door, he mouthed to her a silent 'Thank you.'

She smiled in acknowledgment.

He watched her through his office window blinds as she walked to her desk with her head held high, and he wondered, as he often did, how Dooley ever did this job without having the utmost confidence in and use of Carter.

He never could figure out an answer to that question, and he prayed every day that he never would have to.

* * *

 **Translation:** "chilito"means "little dick" in Spanish

 **A/N** : Thoughts?


	6. Demotion

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** The following is AU from what has been hinted for Season 2, but I wanted to expand on something I briefly referred to in my other Agent Carter story _Finally._

Anywho, enjoy!

* * *

 **Demotion**

* * *

The problem with being in the espionage business as long as she had was that one begins to spy on her colleagues, whether intentionally or not.

When she had first arrived at the SSR New York office, she had intentionally cultivated a rapport with the switchboard girls, especially the pack leader Rose. Daniel and Ramirez may be the office gossips but no one was more truly in the know about the whole organization than the women who were the gatekeepers to all calls in and out of the building.

It hadn't done her any good in the beginning, but once she had proven to be someone worthy of being in the office and not someone who had just used her relationship with Captain America to weasel past the elevator doors, it was paying off in dividends.

They were how she knew that Jack's promotion to Chief was only actually to 'Acting-chief Thompson'. They were how she knew that he was holding the title for a probationary period of 6 months, and how she knew that higher-ups in D.C. were highly dissatisfied with Dottie/Ida's continued 'at-large status'. Apparently, one had been overheard saying that they were tired of the 'Russian bint leading Jack and the New York office around by the nose' and that 'perhaps new blood is needed'.

So it came to her as no surprise when early one Friday morning, she received a cryptic call letting her know that _'the Golden-boy has lost his crown.'_

It had only taken her un-caffeinated mind a moment to process this, and then she had replied in kind: _'How long until the Jester ascends the throne?'_

 _'One week'_ was the brisk reply before the call was ended with a decided click.

She was unsurprised, and therefore, completely prepared for this eventuality.

Peggy watched him throughout the day, noticing the slump to his shoulders and the sharpness of his acerbic tongue. She made sure Daniel, a favorite target of his, was out and about doing errands, and that young Matthews whelp was around to take the brunt of it.

And when the bullpen was empty for the day, minus, as per usual, the two of them, she walked into his office bearing gifts.

~A~

Jack had had a shitty day.

It hadn't just been the fact that the idiotic powers-that-be had told him that they were demoting him after an unsatisfactory trial period despite all that they had accomplished since Vinnie's interview. It had been the fact that they told him that they were replacing him with that paper-pushing, brown-nosing toady Johnson that had been his team leader in San Francisco before Dooley had tapped him for New York.

It had also been the fact that Sousa hadn't been around when he needed him. And add to that, Matthews always being underfoot.

He was calculating the odds of Johnson taking a shine to Matthews, and not liking the results, when a glorious vision appeared at his door…

Peggy Carter. Holding two coffee mugs. And a bottle of Axel Grease - Bardstown's finest barrel-aged bourbon hooch.

Aces.

"So, boss, you got two options. You can either (a) share with me a farewell toast or two to your office here or (b) you can join me at my favorite hole-in-the-wall where we can commiserate over dunderheaded superiors buggering up what ain't broke."

It took him a moment to get passed the mouth-watering vision in front of him to compute the fact that Carter (whom he had admittedly not treated very well) was being a pal about all this - not just with the offer of booze but also going so far as to use over-the-top British vulgarity in an attempt to cheer him up.

It took him another moment to compute the fact that she _knew._

And like an imbecile, because that was what she did to him, that is what he led with.

"How the _hell_ do you know about Johnson, Carter?"

Her dark eyes flashed with hurt and the proffered bottle lowered, even as she cheekily replied with her pert nose in the air, "A girl and an agent _never_ reveals her sources."

Despite his foul mood, this brought a smile to his face. It was a smile that turned into a slow sly grin, as he, in the hopes of making it up to her, answered her earlier question, "Does it have to be either-or? Why can't it be both-and?"

Her head cocked to the side and her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him speculatively. Jack could see the wheels turning in that brilliant mind of hers, as she weighed the pros and cons of his proposal and calculated the best response.

He didn't know if it was the pitiful ass he had made of himself today or the daring look he shot her that won her over, but he knew he did when she said:

"Fine. But you're picking up the tab on my taxi home tonight."

"Deal."

~A~

They eventually did migrate to her hole-in-the-wall. It was literally called ' _Endroit Cache_ ' and was owned by a relative of a friend of hers in the Resistance.

He had been impressed when she revealed that last little bit, but not so much when he had walked in. It was dim, smoky, and the walls were covered in questionable art deco. He swung back to impressed when he saw the quality of American whiskey that was on stock.

Carter led them to a back corner booth after signaling the dark-haired pouty-looking boy behind the bar.

Whatever arrangement she had with the owners was downright swell in his book, because the drinks kept coming, easing their repartee from their usual adversarial to his preferred camaraderie.

After an hour of swapped tales of idiot superiors during the war, he asked, "So when was a time that you said 'Screw it! I'm gonna do it my way'?"

Peggy stared at him blankly for a moment, and then asked incredulously, "You mean aside from the recent Howard-Leviathan fiasco in which I was branded a traitor?"

He snorted and waved dismissively. He wasn't quite able to hide his look of sheepishness behind his blasé attitude though.

Whether she noticed or not, he couldn't tell, because her usually composed face was scrunched up in comical exasperation. He topped off her glass, because whatever she was going to say _had_ to be good.

And it was.

With a dramatic sigh she replied, "Well, if you ask my mother, it would be easier to identify a time when I _wasn't_ a 'rebellious hellion'."

Grinning, or perhaps smirking, he arched an eyebrow in his best 'please, do go on' expression.

She kindly obliged with an annoyed sniff and girlish irritated toss of her hair as she explained, "Oh yes, my mother was often giving me the speech of: _'Yes, Margaret, you probably are smarter than that boy in school and quite possibly some of your professors and your Headmaster, and one day your father and your eventual husband. But, sweetie, you don't need to_ _prove_ _it to them. Use those brains of yours to persuade them to your point of view. Don't beat them over the head with it or rub their noses in their inadequacies. It will never end well for you'_."

Carter concluded that speech with an indifferent shrug that in no way masked the bitterness of her muttered, "Obviously, I'm still struggling with that philosophy."

It was his turn to look at her speculatively with head cocked to the side. He would never understand her. If he had to have suffered all the fools that she had, including Colonel Phillips and his own damn self, there would have been no way he would have stuck around to achieve all that she had – at least not without a far larger chip on his shoulder.

After a few moments of this quiet observation, he noted softly and with all due sincerity, "Nah, from where I'm sitting, you've handled it all quite graciously."

When her dark eyes met his, he raised his glass in a silent toast of gratitude.

He hoped he could be half as gracious as she was come next week. But he doubted it. It took a special person to achieve that level of generosity.

"How's Tiny?"

At his question, she let out a long-suffering groan, "Rivaling 'Teddy' for the dubious title of sadistic bastard."

Her childish petulant expression sent him into random fits of laughter the rest of the evening. It was the cherry on top of an already laughter-filled night, which had not been how he expected his shitty day to end.

But then Peggy Carter never was what he expected.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Translation: _Endroit Cache = 'hidden spot'_ in French

Next will be, I think, what office life is like with the new toady boss.

Questions? Comments? Constructive Criticisms?


	7. Coffee Run Seniority Perks

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you all kindly for your reviews. They are much appreciated. And now for our featured presentation...

* * *

 **Coffee Run / Seniority Perks**

* * *

The new boss was a 'grade-A piece of work' to use one of Angie's less than colorful customer descriptions.

He was short and had the Napoleon complex to go with it.

Well, really he was not that bad, but Peggy was finding that her tolerance for narrow minded egotistical male superiors was becoming quite low. She did not know if it was because he was just one too many, her recent subversive activities had given her a taste for something more than dutiful submission, or the fact that after 6 months of a coachable boss in believe-it-or-not Jack Thompson her head had become filled with fanciful visions of true equality and now she was seeing reality for what it was – a world of dirty glass ceilings. Whatever the case, it grated.

And it irked. And she found herself doing something that nearly cost her all she had worked so hard for…

~A~

"Carter, get me a cup of coffee!" barked the new Chief Johnson from his office door.

Peggy set down the reports that she had just received from the lab rats on the closest desk (Palmer's), which was nowhere near the break room, before heading to hers. Once there, she promptly picked up her purse and headed for the door.

The bullpen grew increasingly quiet with each step she took. As she passed each desk, typewriters stilled and conversations halted. Daniel, who had been rifling through one of the file cabinets, looked as if he wanted to step in her path, keep her from throwing it all away.

She quelled him with her sternest of looks.

"Carter, where do you think you are going?"

Johnson had that tone of voice that a headmaster might have when catching a student cutting classes.

It inspired her.

Channeling the ditsiest girl in her class at St. Martin's, she spun on her heel, and with a wide, vacant, and bewildered expression, she answered, "Why, I am going to get you a cup of coffee, sir."

This took him a minute to compute. (She could literally see the wheels turning in his tiny unimaginative mind, as he scowled at her, then scowled at the coffee pot through the break room window, and then scowled at her again.)

"Is there something wrong with ours?"

"Oh no, sir – er, at least I don't think so. I prefer tea myself, but everybody else seems to enjoy it," she inanely babbled. "But I thought _you_ must have more refined tastes and must not like it, since you were sending me to fetch you some."

He stared at her like she was the prattling idiot that she sounded like, before speaking slowly and patronizingly, "No, Carter, the brew in the office will do just fine."

She resisted the years of instilled military training of subordinate obeisance and refused to retreat. _Agent_ Peggy Carter was no longer the coffee errand girl.

Agent Peggy Carter stood her ground, even while staring quizzically at her superior, eyes blinking in confusion, as if she could not follow the logic of his statement.

Several of their onlookers began to snicker. Some because they had caught on to what she was doing, and the others, the fools, because they had bought into her ditz act.

Jack, though, because he was Jack and for some unfathomable reason was one of the few who was game to follow her lead, piped up, "Hey, Niedermayer! Since the chief wants a convenient cup of jo – _right here in the office_ – and since you are _right there by the pot_ , why don't you get it for him?"

Niedermayer, who was one of the aforementioned fools and who was standing in the break room doorway, quit snickering and hastily went to do as he was bid, being wise enough to know when not to insist upon status quo of gender roles.

Peggy beamed beatifically at one and all, ignoring Johnson's scrutinizing scowl, and returned to her desk. She graciously nodded at Palmer's knowing wink even as she accepted the lab rats' report back, and tried not to gloat at her minor victory.

After that, many of the veterans in the office followed Jack's example and directed whoever was standing nearest the coffee pot to get Johnson his 'cup of jo' or if they were 'right there', they would hastily claim the 'privilege.' She herself was rarely in that position, since she, a woman of impeccable taste, was of course a tea drinker.

Johnson let this little collective subversion continue, and instead found a new avenue to knock her down to her 'rightful' place, by insisting that she file _all of his documents_.

When he did this, she most often would simply add it to her ever increasing pile. All of which would manage to be filed in their proper alphabetical place by the end of her shift. Sometimes, however, he would insist that she file it ' _now, Carter_ ' _._

Her immediate and quiet acquiesce to these demands seemed to be a signal of some sort to the entitled arses of the office, because when she would return to her desk, her pile would mysteriously and exponentially increase.

Matthews, of course, was the first to blatantly try to imitate his chauvinistic leader within the first two of weeks of the new reign.

"Carter, file these for me. Won't you, doll-face? Thanks, you're a real sweetheart."

"Matthews," she called out quite loudly and with much irritation. Without looking up, she instructed with matching condescension, "Be a good junior agent and file your own work."

"But you – "

She cut off his protest with a leveled glare. "I file the Chief's work because he is the boss. I file my own because I don't trust you junior agents not to remember that 'i' does not come before 'e' when it comes to the order of the alphabet. _Revel_ in the fact that I doubt your competence in what you feel is a woman's forte."

Poor Matthews blushed beat red, but hastily scooped up his files and scuttled off.

Daniel turned in his chair and raised an inquiring eyebrow, most likely concerned that she wasn't her 'usual' sweet self, but he respectfully didn't verbalize it.

Jack, however, obviously felt no compunction to do so; and with his feet propped up on the desk to her right, (which he had commandeered upon being demoted back to Deputy Agent), he let out a low appreciative whistle. "Harsh much, Marge?"

Giving no ground, she defended herself without apologizing and shrugged diffidently. "I _may_ have been channeling my inner drill sergeant and _may_ have had months of pent up frustration towards certain persons who will remain unnamed packed behind that cut, but I will not move backwards."

Daniel nodded with understanding and returned to his work, but Jack just chuckled and cheekily replied, "These 'unnamed' persons, would they be Agent Wilkes or Flynn or…?"

He continued to list former agents who had transferred from the office when Dooley had taken over, but she ignored him, for that's what one did for the incorrigible ones.

And if one were to ask her for the reason for the smile playing at the corners of her mouth, her answer would have nothing to do at all with Jack's teasing.

She would succinctly tell them it had to do with the satisfaction she felt in standing up for herself. For without a doubt she knew that no other agent would dare imitate Matthews out of fear of being on the receiving end of her sharp lashing tongue.

But to herself at least, she would admit that the smile that she was trying so hard to stifle had to do somewhat with Jack's antics but also with the actions of all the other senior agents as well.

No one had protested her remarks towards Matthews and not a single one had asked her to file something, even when Johnson's behavior towards her had indicated that the former status quo was acceptable once again. This and all the actions they had taken regarding the coffee had proven to her that in their eyes she was indeed one of the boys.

And that felt damn good.


	8. Stakeout

**Moments**

* * *

Stakeout

* * *

"How's Angie's gig doing? I can't tell from the reviews," Jack's voice broke the dark silence.

"It's doing moderately well. She thinks that despite her small role that she's impressed the director enough for there to be hope for something bigger down the road," she answered honestly, before shooting him a questioning sideways glance. "Why? Are you interested in her?"

Peggy could feel him stiffen briefly next to her, even as he breezily admitted, "No, she's not my type. Well, long-term that is. Short-term, she could have been, if she was not your friend. What can I say? I like to stay on your good side."

She had no response to this that wouldn't be cliché, so she let the silence return. They were on a stakeout. It was one of the many that she had been on in the past few weeks, but the first with him.

Stakeouts were Johnson's way of punishing those on his shit-list. He let Jack, as Deputy Agent, still use the lunch runs as his method of punishment, but for those that pissed him off, it was stakeouts. His official reason for sending her on almost all of them was that having a male and female pair sitting in a car into the wee hours of the night was a lot less suspicious than two men.

When Daniel complained on her behalf, she had asserted that Johnson's reasoning actually made sense and that she didn't mind. She didn't because she was at least doing something useful, in theory, but nothing had come of these last few, especially this pawn shop owner. It was beyond irritating.

The only one of Dooley's boys who hadn't been on these tedious jaunts with her was Wallace, and he got away with it because his uncle was New York's Police Commissioner. Johnson constantly courted the influential in this town, which is why this was Jack's first stakeout with her. Johnson needed his Deputy to keep his agents in line for him, while he was wining and dining.

"How is Jarvis doing?"

"Well," was her brisk reply, and then again with the suspicious side-glance, "Why?"

"It's called small talk, Peggy," he huffed indignantly. "People talk about mutual acquaintances and the weather. I am bored. People are more interesting, and he's your friend." His irritated tone changed to speculative as he mused aloud, "…unless, he's something…?"

"More? Else?" she supplied. "No, he's married."

She half-expected a cynical snort or comment about that not meaning anything, but he didn't and actually kept his mouth shut. Either he was finally getting to know her or, at least (and more likely), he was getting to know what was good for him.

Feeling magnanimous, she stated, "I met his wife. She's a gentle soul, has a backbone of steel, and razor sharp mind. Just the kind of woman those two idiots need to manage them."

Again there was silence. The boy was learning.

She waited expectantly for him to fire off his third question. Her colleagues just couldn't stand the quiet. She, on the other hand, could. She had learned early on in the war to pass the time like this by mentally reciting poetry or plays. Her favorite was "If" by Kipling.

She also amused herself by seeing how long it took her colleagues to crack under the weight of her silences. It was a cruel game she played. But she justified it by viewing it as training. In the coming days, these boys would need to know how to withstand interrogation techniques.

Daniel lasted eleven minutes. Reese, eight. Ramirez, nine, and Fisher, thirteen. She bet Jack would land somewhere between Ramirez and Fisher, whom she suspected lasted longest due to his wife being a sulker and/or he used similar memory techniques, most likely mathematical equations, to pass the time.

Eleven minutes and 49 seconds later…

"So now that you aren't at the Griffith, where are you living now?"

To avoid divulging that she was at one of Howard's residences, she went on the offensive, "Why all the personal questions? Why not: 'how about them Yankees?'"

He shrugged, "One, you don't follow baseball, and two, the war may be over but you and I are still in the trenches. And I know you know what that's like."

She did. On the nights before battle or equally dangerous if smaller scale raids, the soldiers would hunker down and swap stories – of home, their girls, anything to distract themselves or to remind themselves of why they were there in the first place.

Jack continued his diatribe, "It's called bonding. I'm sure you know what that was like too."

Again, she did. The sharing of lives was a ritual that almost all did to stave off feelings of loneliness, to remind you that the person next to you was as much in need of you as you were of him.

Jack looked at her, and from the little light that shone into the car form the pawn shop's sign, she could see his blue eyes brighten with an 'aha' moment.

"Of course, you did. But somewhere along the way, you become one of those veterans that shut down. You focused on the job, what was needed for the job, and that was it. The guy next to you was most likely cannon-fodder. If it wasn't him, it might be you. So either way, what's the point?"

 _Goddamn it. How did the silver-tongued, blue-eyed, office-peacock bastard do it?_

As his words hit home, Peggy stilled. Her breathing slowed and not a muscle moved. She refused to squirm or blink under his scrutiny while she endured an existential crisis.

Jack was right. She had shut down. She had become what Krzeminski had not so quietly called her – the Ice Queen, ever since…

But hadn't she just vowed that day on the bridge to live again?

And who better to start with than the man to first get passed her stony façade and make her feel again, even if most often it was frustrated fury?

So to the provocative and irksome man, she said on a slow exhale, "Alright. But it's tit-for-tat."

"Fair's fair. I have kind of put you on the hot seat tonight," he admitted.

She wanted to point out 'not kind of' and 'not only tonight' and 'how about like ever since the day I transferred back to New York?', recalling all the times he had prodded her with questions like _'So were you really Captain America's girl?'_ or _'So how long and how well did you know playboy Stark?'_ or _'Haven't you put poor Susan out of his misery yet?'_

She didn't though. She kept her eyes on the shop, because it was her job, one that did not involve killing the man with her iciest of death glares. After a few moments of contemplative quiet, she asked, "So what was your Gam-Gam's best dessert?"

Jack laughed. "Why in the world would you want to know that?"

"It's called small talk, Thompson," she retorted, mimicking his earlier words.

"Okay." He replied, holding his hands up in a truce gesture. "The truth is my grandmother could not cook or bake to save her life. That's why Pop-pops had to hire Nana Maria."

Her eyebrow arched at that, causing him to retort defensively, "Oh, don't look at me like that, Carter. I don't come from that type of privileged and entitled family. It was a matter of survival. She and he couldn't feed themselves and Nana Maria needed a place for her family to live. Both families benefited. Her family lived in the apartment above the garage and the Gutierrez kids got to go to a better school."

She nodded and then asked, "So if not biscuits or whatever it is you Americans call them, what makes you love her so?"

"She listens and sees into the hearts of people."

Peggy wanted to snort. It was a gift her grandson had somewhat inherited, as much as a male could – not that she was going to tell him that.

When she didn't say anything, Jack prodded her with, "So what is your second question?"

"I'm thinking of a good one. Shh…" she hushed.

He shot her a skeptical look, his arched blond brows glinting in the dark, but she ignored him, for she was indeed thinking.

In a similar, but less antagonistic conversation with Daniel over coffee and while they were waiting for the matinee of Angie's play to start, she had asked him what his dreams were, his aspirations. He had told her of wanting to find a girl, _the_ girl, get married, and have a family. It was sweet and what she had come to expect from her friend.

When he had asked her to reciprocate, she had been honest and shared that she would have liked something similar, minus it being a man and not a girl, but that she didn't believe she could. When he questioned this, she had explained, _"I don't think I could bring innocents into this messed-up world, raise a family in it, if I didn't or couldn't_ _do_ _something about it. And I don't see how I could do both."_

Daniel had sympathized, acknowledging her dilemma, but had grown distant since then, and she had not encouraged him otherwise. He deserved some woman who shared his vision and could be fully committed to it.

She wanted to invade Jack's personal space like he had hers, but she didn't want to give the cynical and realist man that was Jack Thompson the opportunity to confirm her fears of unachievable dreams to be true.

So instead she asked, "When you were a kid, what did you dream of being?"

This surprised a delighted laugh from him, and a genuine, non-smirking smile spread across his face as he answered, "A singer like Bing Crosby."

And that startled an amused chortle out of her. He was a terrible singer, as she had the misfortune of bearing witness to on the night they came back from Russia, and whiskey did not improve his vocals. He croaked not crooned as he had insisted all the while she and Ramirez had stuffed his serenading and intoxicated self into a taxi.

"Oh my, how long did that last?"

"A lot longer than you would expect as my friends and family were not of the opinion that brutal honesty is the best policy as my friends these days," he confessed wryly.

And then of course was the inevitable: "How about you?"

"I wanted to be the first girl on the moon."

She said this matter-of-factly and braced herself for censure. But Jack surprised her. His snort wasn't as derisive as it could have been as he dryly noted, "Why doesn't that surprise me that you of all people would shoot for the stars?"

There may have even been a hint of admiration in his tone.

She didn't have an answer to this, nor was she given an opportunity to formulate one. The pawn shop owner's son was opening the door to Mick Riley, the front man of the O'Donnelly family, the arms-dealing kingpins of the Northeast shores.

As Jack handed her the camera to take a few pictures, he whispered, "Well, Boston wasn't such a bust after-all."

"Fisher is going to be unbearable tomorrow. He's worse than Daniel in the I-told-you-so department."

"Yep," he concurred, and then with heavy sigh of resignation, he added glumly, "And, please, don't forget Johnson's validation that this past week hasn't been a waste of resources."

On this miserable note, they waited in silence for the meeting to end before calling it a night.

* * *

 **A/N:** I thought Kipling's poem _If_ suited Peggy perfectly, so I wanted to share it with you:

 **If**

 _If you can keep your head when all about you_

 _Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,_

 _If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,_

 _But make allowance for their doubting too;_

 _If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,_

 _Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,_

 _Or being hated, don't give way to hating,_

 _And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:_

 _._

 _If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;_

 _If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;_

 _If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster_

 _And treat those two impostors just the same;_

 _If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken_

 _Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,_

 _Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,_

 _And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:_

 _._

 _If you can make one heap of all your winnings_

 _And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,_

 _And lose, and start again at your beginnings_

 _And never breathe a word about your loss;_

 _If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew_

 _To serve your turn long after they are gone,_

 _And so hold on when there is nothing in you_

 _Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'_

 _._

 _If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,_

 _Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,_

 _If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,_

 _If all men count with you, but none too much;_

 _If you can fill the unforgiving minute_

 _With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,_

 _Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,_

 _And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!_

 _._

Anywho, thoughts?


	9. Undercovers: Day 1

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** The following is inspired by and adapted from NCIS season 3's episode "Undercovers", which is one of my favorites and which I feel is perfect for some Cartson interaction : )

I in no way own or profit from NCIS. Bellisarius and McGill and the peeps from CBS get all the glory and monies.

Also, btw, Jarvis and a few others special guest star ; )

Anywho, enjoy!

* * *

 **Undercovers: Day 1**

* * *

"So, what do you think, sweetheart? Does it pass muster?"

Peggy gave their hotel suite a cursory glance as she shrugged out of her fur-lined coat, finally stating, "It will do, I suppose."

"'It will do'?" Jack scoffed. "This is the swankiest digs we've had yet. It even has one of them new-fangled televisions."

"Darling, I am not at all _interested_ in the latest new-fangled whats-its."

Her sultry tone of voice on the word 'interested' caught his attention. He looked up from the magic box to see her paused in the bathroom doorway giving him a _very heated_ look.

He gulped. "Uh, er, wh-what are you interested in, cupcake?"

"A shower."

At her come-hither look, he gulped again and then hastily obeyed.

~ _Three Days Later_ ~

"Oh my stars! You did not - ?! Miss Carter!"

So exclaimed Rose as her chicken salad dripped from her Wonderbread slices in a less than appetizing fashion.

"I did indeed," Peggy asserted unabashedly, a small part of her was slightly entertained at the horror/envy that her risqué tale had provoked in her audience.

When Peggy had walked into work this morning, Rose had slipped her piece of paper along with the home-baked chocolate brownie she had offered. On the paper had been the simple message: _Meet me on the roof for lunch. 1300_

Intrigued, Peggy had gone, thankful that she had brought her lunch and did not need to run to the Automat as had become her custom. Although, if she had known that she would be facing a matriarchal inquisition, she might have begged off.

As soon as she had sat down next to the woman, Rose had cut straight to the point, if somewhat enigmatically, "Spill."

"Spill what?"

The queen of the switchboard operators was having none of it however. "Spill about this weekend, Carter," and before Peggy could protest about mission security, Rose added warningly, "If you don't, no one will know your side of the story, just whatever version Ramirez spreads about you two, and you know Agent Thompson will go with whatever is more flattering to himself."

Well, crap. The woman had a fair point.

And while silently cursing the office busybody and her own pride, she began her tale of daring-do and intrigue.

"Well, it all started when the bodies of Kristof and Minna Baer had been found entangled in a car wreck early that morning. Amongst their belongings there had been a reservation for the Peninsula, where there is currently a convention of ivy-league college students majoring in the various sciences."

"And it was decided that you and Agent Thompson were to take their places," Rose observed knowingly.

"Yes, we looked the most like the pair," she acknowledged. Luckily blue-eyed blond-haired Kristof was not into equally Aryan-looking women.

"And who is this pair?"

Peggy hesitated a moment wondering how much she could reveal, and then decided to keep it simple, "A German guns-for-hire couple."

The longer version was that the SSR, Interpol, and FBI all suspected that they had killed at least 27 people between them and their most recent jobs had them involved in the kidnapping of youth who have proven to be scientifically-gifted. Hers and Jack's mission was to pretend to be them in order to suss out who the target was and who hired the couple. If they were really lucky, they would not only prevent another kidnapping, but they would also be able to get a lead on what had happened to the others and why they were wanted.

Rose being a professional did not ask any further questions – well, mission-related that is.

"So did you wait until he was down to his skivvies before you told him it was all a charade to keep from being possibly eavesdropped on and not a case of amorous water conservation?"

"Rose!" she protested, a faint blush coming to her cheeks. ' _This is what Angie is going to be like in when she's older.'_ She couldn't help thinking before adding, "No, I didn't have to. Agent Thompson knew what I was about." _Sort of._

~ _Back in Hotel Suite_ ~

Once the radio was on and the room was steamed up, Jack whispered, "Do you think this mysterious 'they' of yours bought it?"

She paused in her search of the room to shoot him a scornful look, "After that so very suave performance?"

"Give a guy a heads up next time, Carter. I didn't know we were going to be playing one of _those_ couples. These two have been married for like 5 years now. I figured they were at the 'I'll-kick-you-if-you-snore' stage," he retorted defensively.

"They might not be, but I warn you now – we most certainly are," she informed him darkly. Oh, why couldn't the Baers be Catholic? She was not looking forward to sharing the same bed as Jack-I-am-God's-gift-to-women-Thompson.

Before Jack could reply, she concluded her search with, "No cameras or bugs in here that I can see, but there's no way I can be sure."

"How do you even know we are under surveillance?"

"I don't," she admitted, and then with a shrug, "Daniel's got a hunch. I've got a gut feeling. And one can't be too careful while undercover. Speaking of which… we actually need to get in the shower."

At Jack's raised eyebrows, she rolled her eyes, explaining "For the purposes of keeping the charade as real as possible, we need to look as if we actually _took_ one."

"Oh, if we are going for being realistic, then…" he paused to give her leer. "Then, Carter, I – and I am sure Mr. Baer does too – make my women scream."

"In frustration?" she retorted as she eyed his – pants area – dubiously.

His answering scowl had made all the effort she had put into not blushing exponentially worth it.

~A~

She was ensconced in a robe and towel-drying her hair at the vanity, while Jack was doing whatever he does to 'perfect' his hairstyle, when there was a knock at the door.

When a clipped British voice called out _'Room service!'_ , she glanced into the bathroom inquiringly. Jack was shaking his head that he had not called for them while she was in the shower after he had finished his turn and his alleged 'husbandly duty.' _("And yes, Rose, we did shower separately, no amorous water conservation or otherwise.")_

By the time there was a second knock, Jack had his gun in his hand and was perfectly positioned low in the bathroom doorway and she had her own pistol tucked within the robe's folds as she looked through the peephole.

Upon seeing who it was, she let out a silent curse even as she opened the door and warned her partner with, "It's that friendly chap, _mein Kuschelbär_."

That 'friendly chap', of course, happened to be the one and only Mr. Jarvis. They were very fortunate that she had cranked up the radio as she had gone to the door; otherwise, Jack's explosion of _"What the fuck are you doing here?"_ would have certainly blown their cover.

At his accusatory glare, she declared defensively, "Don't look at me. I haven't seen or heard from him in a while." If 'a while' was last Saturday, when he and Anna had ostensibly come over to make sure the residence wasn't in disrepair while in the care of two domestically-challenged city girls and in reality to exchange the latest gossip. It certainly wasn't in time for him to crash their mission like this though.

"Pardon for the intrusion, Miss – "

"Mrs. Baer," she cut him off, not knowing how well the strains of Mozart were covering their conversation. With eyes narrowed, she asked, "And what _are_ you doing here? We did not call for room service."

Her friend gave her a puzzled frown before he realized she was keeping in character as much as possible. In hushed tones, he replied, "Oh well, I and Mr. - er, Howard saw you in the lobby, and he – "

" _He's_ here too?" hissed Jack in exasperation, causing Peggy to want to roll her eyes. For, really, where one is, generally there is the other, even when one of them is wanted for treason.

"Well, um, yes, of course. Mr. St- Howard is here for the convention. He is always looking for inspiration or young minds to recruit for his company," Jarvis explained, looking somewhat surprised that he even had to. This, of course, did not settle Jack's ruffled feathers any.

In order to hasten this tête-à-tête along and keep the peace, she inquired, "What did he send you here for?"

"Oh, yes, this," he replied as he pulled out a little black box with two antenna. "If you turn off the radio, I can detect any _pests_ that may have infested your suite."

At this, Jack arched an inquiring eyebrow at her, as if he was leaving the call up to her. She shrugged and went over to turn off the radio.

Jarvis moved as close to the center of the room and scanned it, slowly turning in a circle. When he was done, he signaled for her to turn the radio back on.

Before she did so, Jack complained loudly, " _Liebling_ , why did you turn that off?"

"I _hate_ that song. That's why. Don't you know that by now?" she whined.

"Well, it should be over by now. Turn it back on, woman."

Jarvis paused in his scrutiny of the device to glance between them speculatively. Before he could say whatever it was that he was thinking, she asked, "So do we have an infestation problem?"

"Yes, in the bedside lampshade, over by the phone, and in the flower arrangement on the vanity."

"Any in the bathroom?"

He swiveled to double-check, and then shook his head. "None, and I can also jam them if you would like."

"No, thank you," she replied gently but firmly. "We don't want to tip them off that we are onto them."

"Whoever 'them' is," muttered Jack as he scowled at the phone.

As if his glare had called it to life, it began to ring.

As she was the closest to the phone, she picked it up, "Hello?"

 _"You have dinner reservations in the dining room in an hour. Be there,"_ said a stern, raspy Western European male voice before promptly hanging up.

"Who was that, sweetheart?"

"The _maître d'._ It looks like our dinner reservations got moved up an hour, _mein Süßer,_ " she replied with faux excitement.

"In that case, we won't be needing your services any longer," Jack replied with more excitement than necessary, as he began herding Jarvis out.

Over his shoulder, her friend mouthed 'Good luck.'

She mouthed back 'Thank you' before diving for the bathroom. If she had only an hour to get ready, she couldn't have Jack hogging the bathroom any longer.

~ _Office Roof_ ~

"So what did you wear?"

Peggy arched an eyebrow, as if to say _'is that really necessary to this tale?'_

"Yes, it is." Rose insisted, and then added knowingly, "Do you want to hear Ramirez's description?"

Having overheard Ramirez's rather crass descriptions of feminine attire in the past, she defended her honor with, "It was a cocktail dress, sheer black and embroidered and had caramel satin lining."

Rose snorted lightly, "Sounds delicious."

"Yes, well, Jack did drool a little," she admitted with a smug smirk.

"Of course he did, darling, and then?"

Sighing with resignation, as she knew the woman would never forgive her if she did not include the next bit, she continued, "And then, after the waiter had seated us, Thompson declared and I quote: ' _Sweetheart, I got to admit a part of me is reveling in the fact that I have a sweet dish like you on my arm, earning covetous looks from all the men, but another part wants to beat all of those very same men blind. The only thing keeping me from the latter is knowing that if any one of them tried anything inappropriate my Marge could put them in the ground'._ "

For once, her lunch companion and high inquisitor was speechless, so Peggy returned to her description of the evening.

~ _Hotel Dining Room~_

They were seated at a table, which gave them an excellent vantage point of all the patrons in the dining room but had their backs to the kitchen. This made them both uncomfortable as they could not see who was coming and going behind them, but especially Jack. Having known many a soldier who was extra twitchy by this, she leaned over and whispered, "We'll just have to trust that Ramirez will have our backs."

He nodded and relaxed. Ramirez was masquerading as a server tonight, being their eyes and ears among the wait staff, while Daniel monitored the phone lines and coordinated with security.

Picking up their menus, they both scanned the room, trying to spot any familiar face, and after a moment, Jack asked, "Do you recognize anyone here?"

"No," she murmured her reply, "But I'll have Ramirez take pictures as he works his way around the room. Maybe Palmer can cross-reference them against that logbook he has been compiling of Leviathan associates."

While his expression was bland, Jack's voice contained a mild note of incredulity, as he asked, "How the hell is Ramirez going to do that?"

Without replying she set down her menu and set it aside, knocking off her small clutch and sending its contents scattered across the floor.

And who was it that immediately swooped in to pick it up?

That's right. Good ol' Ramirez. And he swiftly put everything back into her purse and handed it to her. Everything, that is, except for a few minor items, including a slender pen, which he attached to his little order pad before returning to his 'duties.'

 _("Ooh, the clutzy damsel-in-distress move. Good one, Carter."_

 _"Thanks, Rose.")_

When all curious glances from fellow diners ceased to fixate on them, he asked, "Camera pen?"

"Camera pen."

"Swift thinking."

"Not really," she disagreed with a slight shake of her head. "If I had, I would have asked _that friendly chap_ who his employer is interested in."

At his puzzled frown, she explained, "Not that every conspiracy revolves around him, but it does seem that whatever he deems of scientific value, they do too."

"I see your point," he acknowledged, but then because he could not seem to help himself, he added dryly, "I admit that the man is not the villain of our little drama, but don't you find it curious that what fascinates the villainous characters also fascinates him?"

She shrugged, "Ambitious minds, as well as great, think alike, I suppose."

She was saved from an obnoxious response to this by their thin mustachioed server returning to take their order. He ordered the beef, and she, the fish. When with a suggestive wag to his eyebrows, Jack tried to order oysters as well, she quickly piped up with a wifely reminder that it 'gave him gas' and that he 'best not'. He agreed with another one of his patented smirks that she so hated, causing her to roll her eyes. Their waiter was unimpressed with their witty domestic banter.

She thought the dinner would have been filled with awkward pauses, but Jack decided to be his charming Dr. Jekyll self and began the game of creating stories about their fellow patrons while they waited for the Baers' employer to make contact.

He was in the middle of an elaborate tale of how the matronly grey-haired woman who sent back every dish brought to her at least once was having a clandestine affair with the hotel chef and that this was her method of covert flirting underneath her portly husband's nose, much to Carter's reluctant amusement, when their server interrupted him with an apologetic, "You have a phone call, sir."

They followed the man's gaze to see another one of his ilk holding the receiver of the phone at the hostess desk. He acknowledged them both with a single nod and sighed with great reluctance, "Sorry, sweetheart, but duty calls."

She waved him away with the look of a bored and resigned wife used to such interruptions, and asked the waiter for the dessert menu.

Per Daniel's transcription of the phone call that he was able to eavesdrop on, it went like this:

Jack (annoyed): _"About time you made contact. We were getting bored."_

Male Unsub: _"I thought you might like to know that we have doubled our order."_

Jack: _"Doubled, huh? That is going to cost you."_

Male Unsub: _"But, of course. Twice as much as the agreed upon price. We are nothing if not fair."_

Jack: _"Well, in the spirit of fairness, my friend, we will need to be compensated not just for the extra package but for the exponential amount of trouble a second one causes to acquire, secure, and transport discreetly. And of course, there is the matter of how valuable the second package is worth to consider…Who is the second acquisition?"_

Male Unsub: _"The individual is in the restaurant with you. You don't see him?" (pause) "Take your time. Enjoy dessert. I will need to discuss your compounded rates with my boss."_

Jack: _"You do tha-" (End call)._

By this time, Peggy had developed an urgent 'need' for the powder room, and on her way there she _just happened_ to need to pass the hostess desk. From beneath her lowered lashes as she weaved between the tables, she could see Jack scowling at the phone as he set it in the cradle, and as she saw his fingers tapping it, she knew he was trying to recall how long it should take Daniel to do a trace.

Not long because it rang again. Jack picked it up, listened for a moment, and then without even bothering to return the phone to its cradle, he just dropped it and ran, startling the picky eater matron as he rushed past her and her husband who were leaving through the same exit.

Peggy abandoned her pretense of heading to the powder room and went to the phone, saying the first inconspicuous thing that came to mind that would let Daniel know it was her: " _Guten Abend,_ is this Susan?"

There was a brief pause at the other end of the line and then Daniel said, "The call came from the lobby, phone booth four. I radioed Ramirez. He's on his way too."

"Danke."

She gently set the phone in the cradle, generously tipped the hostess, and requested that the dinner be charged to their room, before trailing after her 'errant husband.'

She hastily scanned the richly furnished lobby for the line of booths, and quickly spotted both Jack and Ramirez walking away from them (in opposite directions), looking quite glum.

Jack saw her and veered towards her. As soon as he was at her side, she asked, "Empty?"

Jack snorted derisively, "What was your first clue?"

"Ramirez's I-just-bit-into-a-lemon expression?"

This time Jack's snort was one of amusement. Chortling, he explained, "If Nana Maria had heard the curses he let loose when we found the booth empty, she would have washed his mouth out with the nastiest tasting soap she could find."

After a moment, he added thoughtfully, "We at least got his fingerprints though. Ramirez had a kit with him. I never knew he was such a boy scout."

It was her turn to snort in derisive amusement.

She half-expected him to give a scoffing "What?" in response, but he merely sighed in heavy resignation and asked, "You?"

"Me. My powder and powder brush to be exact."

At her admission, he frowned, brows furrowing in concentration as he asked, "When?"

"Camera pen."

She watched with no small amount of amusement as comprehension dawned and his frown disappeared, turning into both an abashed and appreciative grin, as he remarked, "Smooth, Car – _Minna_."

"Not as smooth as you, _mein Kuschelbär_."

The tips of his ears went a delightful shade of pink in either embarrassment at his near slip up or her pet name for him, as he muttered, "Are you ever going to stop calling me that?"

Recalling all the various unwanted nicknames he had given her since their acquaintance, she unrepentantly replied with a simple but resounding:

"Not a chance, _sweetheart_."

~ _Office Roof~_

"And so that concludes day one," Peggy announced as she began to tidily pack up her lunch.

"Day one? How many days were there, Agent Carter?"

"Just the two," she answered matter-of-factly, resisting the urge to sigh or mutter 'just two too many', as she did not want to be seen as 'protesting too much'.

When the woman seemed to be in no hurry to return to her station, she inquired curiously, "Did they increase your lunch break to a full hour?"

"Oh no, we do not have the same privileges as you agents yet. Helen owes me for all the extended smoke breaks she takes," Rose replied blithely.

This attitude of nonchalance quickly changed and morphed into one of avid curiosity as she leaned forward and confessed in a conspiratorial whisper, "I just got to know. Did you and Agent Thompson sleep… _together_?"

* * *

 **A/N:**

German to English translations:

 **danke = thank you**

 **Guten Abend = good evening**

 **Süßer = sweetie**

 **Liebling = darling**

 **Mein Kuschelbär = my cuddly bear**


	10. Undercovers: Day 2

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry for the delay. I could not access my account for a few days to update.

* * *

 **Undercovers: Day 2**

* * *

It was just after 7am when there was a quiet knock at the door and an equally quiet call of _"Room service"_ that could barely be heard over the strains of Billie Holiday _._

Peggy set down the curling tongs with a disgusted look at the still and prone form of her partner sprawled across the bed and went to check to see who was at the door. After a quick glance through the peephole, it did indeed prove to be room service via Ramirez.

She made a swift scan of herself to make sure she was decent and somewhat presentable – blouse, slacks, stockinged feet, and partially curled hair, deemed herself good enough, and then let him in.

Ramirez took one look at her, one at Jack's sprawled form, and one at the sofa with folded sheets and blankets and a pillow stacked neatly at the end, before picking up the pitcher of ice water on the cart and mimed dumping it all over Jack.

She laughed softly and shook her head. Ramirez had taken quite the shine to her since she pulled him out of the Checkered Hall, and he was getting as bad as Daniel when it came to anyone disrespecting her in his eyes. So in order to preserve his friendship with Jack, she explained, "He tried to take the couch last night, but I told him that I'd rather share the bed between the two of us, as it is certainly big enough, than have him rendered incapacitated by a small cramped couch."

"That still doesn't explain why you ended up on the couch in the end," he pointed out.

It took her a few moments to reply as she was skimming through the autopsy reports on the Baers which had been stuffed between the folds of the morning paper, but eventually she mumbled, "Apparently, I snore."

Like a dog with a bone, Ramirez persisted, "He could have just asked you to – "

"Roll over? I did," grumbled Jack as he slowly sat up.

If anyone, namely Angie, were ever to ask (and thank God, Rose didn't), she could not lie – at that point, she paused in her reading of the report to admire the view. He painted a pretty swoon-worthy picture with his blond hair all in disarray, stubble-covered chin, morning gravelly voice, wide shoulders displayed to their best advantage by his sleeveless undershirt, and boyish petulant pout instead of his usual sophisticated cynical sneer. (Again, thank God Angie thought she was at a code-breaker conference, or else she would never live her gawking down).

"And…?"

"And I rolled over and held a gun to his head," she admitted with a sigh.

She half-expected to have to defend herself by asserting that she had been asleep and responding out of reflex. But upon seeing the gleeful look in Ramirez's eyes, she knew that this would not be necessary and that the image of Agent Carter sleeping with a gun under her pillow was not one that the office busybody could or would keep to himself.

 _("He didn't by the way," Rose oh-so-kindly informed her._

 _"Hence this particular gossiping hour?" she snarked in return._

 _"Hence this information exchange, yes," was her prim reply.)_

In order to not be the sole focus of Ramirez's water-cooler gossip, she said to Jack with honeyed sweetness, " _Mein Kuschelbär,_ I have news for you."

At his grunt, she blurted, "You're going to be a father."

 _("Ooh, you're a cruel woman, Agent Carter," Rose interjected with admiring glee, causing Peggy to make sure her description of Jack's reaction was as truthful as could be.)_

Jack jerked his head up at her announcement, his eyes wide with horror, and his hands, which had been wearily rubbing the sleep from his face were paused mid-air. Much to hers and Ramirez's delight, he did not move for several moments after that.

Not even when the phone rang.

Seeing that he was rendered quite dumb, in all connotations of the word, from her announcement, she moved to answer the phone, signaling to Ramirez to turn down the radio.

"Baer," she greeted bluntly.

"My boss is willing to renegotiate terms and to provide you the identity of second target."

" _Ja_?"

"Meet me in the lobby in two hours."

~A~

"What are you thinking there, Marge?"

Jack's drawled question cut into her reverie. A good thing really, as she was taking far too long securing her derringer to its ankle holster.

"It's _Minna_ , Kristof, as you well know," she corrected pertly, but answered his question anyways, as she straightened. "I was wondering if Fisher was going to be able to obtain that warrant in time for the bank lockbox."

"And to convey its significance to us before our meeting? Probably not. It's Judge Travers on call this weekend, I think, and he's probably on Hole 9 of his favorite Saturday golf course by now," he scoffed morosely as he fiddled with his tie in the mirror.

She nodded resignedly at this. It was true. Unless the seeker of the warrant could advocate that it would greatly inconvenience the judge _not_ to sign the warrant – woe be to him who dared to disturb him.

And as they did not know _who_ was potentially going to be kidnapped, they could not say if the youth's parents were capable of raining sufficient wrath on his head to qualify as 'inconvenient.'

And their argument that whatever is in the lockbox inside the bank that has lockbox keys exactly like the one that was dangling from Minna Baer's neck would help them identify who that target is would not suffice. She did not envy Fisher's challenge.

"So what are you thinking?" she asked, more out of polite habit than real interest.

"I'm imagining you being a mommy-to-be."

She paused in her re-packing of her clutch to stare at his reflection in the mirror, which was giving her an odd but admiring half-leer. To cover her consternation at his comment and expression, she quipped smartly, "Hmm…when did you become a maiesiophiliac, sweetheart?"

It took him a moment, but once he finished mentally translating from the little Latin he knew, Jack's dumbfounded expression was priceless, as he stuttered and whined, "Hey…w-what?...Hey, now! Don't be like that, Mar- _Minna_." And then he had to ruin it with, "I was just thinking how you would make a great mom."

She thought how she could retort that he could give up on those fantasies of getting her out of the office due to an extended maternity leave, as it had been ages since she had met anyone that could make that even a remote possibility. But as that was just a sad commentary on her social life, she decided to retaliate in kind. "Well, dear, I do not need to think – I know you would make a good father."

And she did. Judging by how he led his fellow agents in the office, he would be an excellent father to his children – as long as he liked them, mostly.

He must have read the sincerity in her eyes because he shut his flabbergasted mouth closed, not once but two or possibly three times, and thankfully changed the subject to:

"So, _my dear_ , how does a classy lady such as yourself know about pregnant woman fetishes?"

~ _Office Roof~_

"Agent? Agent Carter?"

Rose's voice broke her out of her reverie.

"Yes?"

"You kind of drifted off there for a minute," Rose observed concernedly.

"I did?" At the woman's nod, she cleared her throat and asked hesitantly, "Where did I leave off?"

"You didn't envy Fisher's challenge to get that warrant," she supplied helpfully, and then even more helpfully, she asked, "Tea, dear?"

She nodded gratefully, unsure which she was more thankful for – that the woman had a thermos full of tea or that hers and Jack's highly personal conversation had remained between them.

After she had taken a sip of the restorative beverage, Rose asked, "So did Fisher get the warrant?"

"Yes, but not in time."

"Not in time for what?"

"To know that it was a trap."

~ _Hotel Elevator_ ~

"Lobby, please," Jack requested of the gentleman nearest the buttons, as she and he entered the lift.

As the burly man reached over to do so, his jacket slid back enough to reveal a gun holstered on his hip. It did not overly alarm her as there was extra security for the convention and other well-to-do patrons of the hotel – and it was America after all – but she still positioned herself so that she could defend herself in such close-quarters. Jack did the same picking up on her body language.

They were almost out of that tin can kill-box, when the lift stopped at floor 3 and opened up to reveal two men, one of Theodore Clifford's proportions and the other shorter and meaner build (and most likely disposition). More importantly, both had guns pointed at them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Baer, please, come with me," the leaner of the two coolly insisted.

Jack went to shove into the gentleman who had ridden the elevator with them so that he could close the doors, but Peggy pulled him back as she could now see that the man had pulled a second gun from the opposite hip and was now aiming that at the two of them.

"Yes, Mrs. Baer, keep that husband of yours on a tight leash," advised the apparent leader of this operation.

"For whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?" she asked, hoping it was not odd that she did not know the name of the voice on the other end of the phone.

"I am Adrien Valentin. I am the middle man commissioned by our… _mutual_ employer to mediate this business," he supplied. His words sounded non-threatening enough but his eyes – his eyes spoke _volumes_.

By the tightness in his shoulders, she could tell that Jack had sensed it too, but he kept his head, (and therefore _their_ heads), and attempted to regain some semblance of control of the situation by asserting, "Well, Mr. Valentino, let's mediate this business. Lead on."

Whoever the 'mutual employer' was did a good job in hiring this man for the job as he was one cool customer. Without even batting an eye at Jack's deliberate mispronunciation of his name, he turned to his associates and ordered, "Relieve our guests of their weapons and then bring them to the suite. If they give you any problems…" he paused to eye them up and down and then said ominously, "Shoot the missus."

~A~

"It was a real pleasure to receive the request from our boss to provide my rival with an _educational_ experience," Valentin gloated as he circled them like a stalking predator, or perhaps like a cat that plays with its food.

She and Jack were sitting tied to back to back to two desk chairs in the middle of a hotel suite, while this man wasted time in intimidation tactics (which was fine by her as it gave Daniel and Ramirez more time to find them).

"It seemed rather apropos to have this tutorial done at collegiate convention. Wouldn't you say?"

"I was never a good student. Can we skip the lecture and dive right into the key points?" Jack sneered. She silently wondered if he was critiquing their captor on his interrogation techniques. If he was, she had no doubt he found the man as equally wanting as she did.

"Ah, bad student were you? I have a method that I have always found to do wonders for driving points home." With a dramatic signal to Evil Clifford, he continued his pontification, "It is called positive punishment by behavioralists, I believe. Anyways, the critical points are:

"One – there is no retirement plan in our business."

" _Uggh._ " Jack groaned as Evil Clifford's meaty fist slammed into his gut.

She could feel the force of the hit reverberate up her own spine, and she couldn't quite hide her cringe. A fact which Valentin gleefully took note of as he continued, "And two, never threaten to blackmail your employer to provide you one."

Over his own grunts of pain, Jack goaded with yet another sneer, "Sh-shouldn't there b-be a third point?"

"Pardon?" Valentin asked, as if he could not believe someone would dare mock him in their positions.

"There's always three points in every lecture or argument. _Oomph!_ " Evil Clifford hit Jack again, unprompted and in punishment for his smart-arse cheek.

"Your husband is quite insolent, not a trait that I would want in a partner, especially in situations like these," Valentin pointed out to her with no real concern, as evidenced by his indifferent shrug and mutter of "No matter," before focusing on Jack. "No, there is no third point. Just a pop quiz." He circled around again to square off with Jack, as he asked, "Where are the files?"

Now they were getting somewhere. Minna and Kristof Baer, soon-to-be parents, had been trying to exit the game, and had been hoping to do so with financial security by threatening whoever contracted them out with incriminating information. Judge Travers had better sign that warrant.

"What files?"

Valentin circled back to face her, while Evil Clifford hit Jack yet again, and asked icily, "Where are they, Mrs. Baer?"

Silently praying for Jack's forgiveness for the abuse he was about to receive, she attempted to stall again, "Why do you think we have them?"

"Because Howard Stark's man was sniffing around your room for them," Valentin replied exasperatedly, and then his eyes narrowed with suspicion as he inquired accusingly, "Is that who you were going to sell them to?"

"Possibly," she replied with as much of a shrug as her bound arms would allow. "There are a few other buyers. How much is it worth to you?"

Her cool façade seemed to greatly offend him, for his nostrils flared and his eyes bulged as he practically spat, "Better question. How much is it worth to our employer? Answer: as much as I charge for my educational services."

~ _Office Roof_ ~

"At this point, Valentin proceeded to demonstrate his skill at 'object lessons'. And in order to buy Daniel and Ramirez time to find us, I let them make Jack, er, Agent Thompson, a canvas of black and blue."

"Was it bad?" Rose inquired upon seeing her face as she recalled the events that followed.

"It was bad," she admitted. After taking a bracing sip of tea and a few moments to admire the city skyline, she continued, "And the worst part of it was that during all of that, all I could think about was how I wished we had a safe word for such circumstances, and then how much he would tease me if we survived this and I ever brought it up."

Peggy daren't look at Rose as she made that last confession. For one, to be thinking of something so silly and inane as all that while someone's life was on the line was just so…so unprofessional. And for another, to even hint at something so _deviant_ to a woman as respectable as Rose was just embarrassing.

Rose must have noticed her discomfort, (she certainly couldn't have missed her flushed face), as she only kindly asked, "But you have a safe word now?"

"Oh yes," she replied. It was 'pillock', which she had convinced him meant 'peacock' in Czechoslovakian.

"Did this Valentine ever hit you?"

"Oh no," she shook her head. "In fact, he kind of prided himself on that."

~ _Valentin's Hotel Suite_ ~

"As you can see and no doubt hear, I am quite good at what I do. I could demonstrate it to you personally, if you need further convincing," Valentin ominously threatened.

From the abused peanut gallery, there was a token groaned protest of "Do-o-on't. N-not h-her."

"I would prefer not to, especially to a lady, but you still have not told me what I want to know."

Having finally figured out what the Baer couple had done from Valentin's comments, Peggy played her role to the fullest. With all the mercenary hardness and wifely desperation she could emote (the latter really wasn't that hard as she did not know how much more he could take), she bargained, "The whole point of all this was so that there would be no trouble. If you let him go, I'll tell you where the files are."

"Are you crazy?! I'b not leabing you behibd!" Jack blurted through his now profusely bleeding nose.

"It seems you two have some discussing to do," observed Valentin with dry amusement. "Why don't I give you a moment to reach a consensus?"

As soon as he and his goons had left them alone, Jack declared, "I hab a work in progress kind of plan."

"Yes?" she prompted, not greatly encouraged by his descriptors or his pronunciation.

"Dibide and conquer."

"You mean I lead them to wherever we have these files – which we do not have – and leave you, hands bound and your body a bloody mess, to defend yourself against the inevitable bullet they will put through your head once I am out of earshot?"

"Well, I did say it was a WIP plan." At her grunt of frustration, he became a little more testy, "Look, I know I'b not super-soldier material eben on my best of days, but eben I can stall theesh goons long enough for you to lure 'em to our room where I'b sure Daniel and Rabirez will be waiting. And then you can send in the cabalry or lead the charge yourself, if you prefer."

"Of course, that's what I prefer, you pillock."

~ _Office Roof_ ~

"And that's what we did."

She and Jack played the desperate doomed couple. Each begging for the life of the other.

"I lured Valentin to our room, distracting him and providing him with a false sense of security by informing him of Minna's pregnancy, so when he opened the door to our room and saw Ramirez's prone body, he forgot that the burly elevator chap he had sent on ahead had not given him the 'all clear'. And before he could do so, Daniel whacked the gun out of his hand with his cane, which he then followed up with a knock-out punch to the temple. It would have made the real Clifford quite proud."

"Did you storm the gates to save your damsel-in-distress?"

"Oh yes, I captured myself the trolls and dragon who were guarding his tower too," she admitted with a smirk, thoroughly enjoying the image they were painting.

With the information in the lockbox at the bank and what Valentin and his 'trolls' had divulged, they were able to send in the Howling Commandos to the lair near Lithuania where all the kidnapped youth were being held. They were now being debriefed and treated at the D.C. office. Most of their true damsels-in-distress had already been reunited with their families.

And while the main cause for her smile of satisfaction had to do with the success of their mission, a small part of it had to do with how she and the cavalry had found Jack.

~ _Valentin's Hotel Suite_ ~

" _Er!"_

Thwack!

 _"Uggh!"_

Thump!

 _"Grr!"_

Whump! Whump!

 _"Ooh-oomph!"_

All of these were the sounds that were radiating down the hallway and through the door as she raced to Jack's rescue. A rescue, which he in fact did not need.

As soon as she opened the door with pistol raised, she was met with the sight of Jack still strapped to the chair and kicking repeatedly at the prone form of Evil Clifford.

"And take that, you Rodent of Un-proportional Size! How do you like that 'positibe punishment', huh?" _Whack!_ "And when your boss gets back, I'll psycho-babble his ass too!"

Although she was secretly thrilled at the sight of Jack's subjugation of his tormentor, she knew that she needed to intervene before he could do irreparable damage to a possible source of valued information. So she forced her inner ever-responsible Peggy Carter to the forefront and gently called, "Jack? Jack, that's enough."

When that did not work, she tried her most irritatingly and overly sweet, " _Mein Kuschelbär_!"

That got his attention. Jack looked up from his victim to glower at her through his one only partially swollen eye and rasped, " _Liebling_ , thank God we Baers are Protestant."

From out of the corner of her eye she could see Daniel and Ramirez shoot each other concerned glances. She could just hear them thinking that Jack had finally snapped and now he was over-identifying with his cover.

"And why is that?" she inquired, knowing even as she did so that she was going to regret asking.

"Because, sweetheart, Catholics don't beliebe in divorce."

~Office Roof~

"Hey, Carter? Food for thought: you and Agent Thompson make a great team," was Rose's final comment before she disappeared back into the building.

And Peggy, as she sat and stared out over the city that she had come to both love and hate, could not help but think that Rose might be on to something.

After all, didn't great and ambitious minds think alike?

She didn't know what that quite said about her, but she was slowly coming to accept it. The two of them, together, as equals, did just get the job done and they got it done spectacularly well.

What more could an Agent ask for?

* * *

 **A/N:** pillock = 'stupid person' in British slang, originally it meant 'penis' in Scandinavian.

Out of curiosity...got a favorite line or scene?


	11. Poker Game

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you all for your lovely reviews, and kudos to those who picked up on the _Princess Bride_ reference ; )

Just a reminder, ' _mein_ _Kuschelbär_ ' means 'my cuddly bear' in German, and fyi: ' _mein Esel_ ' means 'my jackass'

Anywho, enjoy!

* * *

 **Poker Game**

* * *

"So, Fisher, what are you going to do now that you've successfully closed your grand case?"

"Don't you mean since he's nailed those profiteering bastards to the Sing-Sing wall, Carter?" Wallace interjected.

"In your more – er – _colorful_ language, yes," she acknowledged with a smile, even as she waited expectantly for a reply.

Fisher had been stressed for days – no, weeks. He deserved a reward. She half-expected him to say 'a weekend getaway with his wife' or 'a fishing trip with his brothers', even those who hadn't closed a big case like he had had plans for the weekend. Most had cleared out early to go to some sporting event or another. (She tuned them out if anything they mentioned ended in the word 'ball'.)

Fisher's worry lines were already smoothing out as he contemplated his prize. With a wide grin, he declared, "The wife has let me cash in my annual pass to play poker with the boys."

A small "Oh?" was all she could manage at this revelation. Although it should not have been so surprising that the office follow-the-money agent would be so keen on a night of gambling.

Fisher's smile faltered a little and his cheeks tinged a pale pink as he hastily added, "Oh, and though I told her 'boys', you're invited too. I just didn't know how to explain it to her and all, so I decided to keep it simple and general would be the wisest course."

Peggy smiled gently her understanding at the babbling man, and secretly reveled in the fact that he even thought to invite her. A year ago, it would have been 'Oh, we're going out and could you finish my analysis work?'. And the fact that he had considered how he would explain (or not explain) her presence to his wife meant that he wasn't just asking now out of politeness.

"I would love to. Where is it going to be? And who is all going to be there?"

"At my cousin's bar," Wallace answered. "He's loaning us the backroom, so we don't have all his local flatfoots butting in."

"And it'll be everyone who did a major assist on this – Thompson, Sousa, Ramirez, and Wally here. Palmer would have come, but he already had plans with his girl."

 _'So people I like, who seem to finally respect me, and who most likely won't resent me if I take all their money. Excellent.'_

Picking up her purse and tugging on her gloves, she flashed the two men a wide grin, "Count me in."

~A~

"Check."

"Call."

"I raise you ten."

"So what's it going to be, Carter?"

Peggy ignored Ramirez. He had turned out to be one of those aggressive goading players that you wanted to slap or duct-tape into silence, but she had been settling for taking his money. Now, she wasn't too sure if it was going to be her who did so, or if she was going to have to rely on one of the others to give her the satisfaction.

She wondered if Fisher and Wallace were now regretting inviting her, or any of the others for not protesting her presence, as she had proven to be able to hold her own in this corner of the men's club as well.

She glanced at her cards (a queen and a deuce of hearts, a queen of spades, a deuce of clubs, and a three of diamonds), and then she assessed everyone else.

Jack, who had yet to bet, was calm but was scrutinizing her – so he had a good, if not excellent hand. Ramirez, the dealer, was impatient as always when he liked his hand, but he was tapping his cards and not his chips – so it was not a terribly strong one either.

Both Wallace, who had bet nothing this round, and Fisher, who had matched Ramirez's previous raise of $5 but had not been willing to go any higher, were confident enough in their hands to stay but not to risk their dwindling funds.

It was Daniel that gave her pause. He was an aggressive player like Ramirez, but he was far more tight in his approach, which meant he probably had a strong hand.

She eyed him a bit longer, causing him to squirm just a little, and then she…

Folded.

There was a dramatic sigh of relief from everyone, except Jack.

He groaned and folded as well.

Eyebrows were raised all around the table at this. Jack had not been telegraphing his intent to fold, which he usually did after seeing his cards from the draw, and when anyone else folds, he usually smirks and makes some sort of patronizing remark. He does not suddenly follow suit.

If all this was not bizarre enough Ramirez did not seem all that surprised. His eyebrows were raised in the 'really?' manner of someone who cannot believe another is going through with a dare than a person who is surprised, and then he shot Daniel a speculative glance. (Peggy was proud to note that Daniel's cool façade remained in place and he only fiddled with one of his chips.)

Daniel's fiddling seemed to mean something to Ramirez, since he shot Jack a smirk of his own, as he declared smugly, "Call."

His smug smirk quickly fell when Daniel revealed a 3-to-7 straight to his two pair of nines and fours, which would have beaten out Wallace's and Fisher's own two pairs.

While she had been exceedingly fascinated with Ramirez's odd behavior, Daniel had been quietly studying Jack. After collecting his winnings he finally blurted, "Why did you fold?"

Jack leaned back and smirked, "Carter only folds this late in a hand when _you_ have stellar cards."

Daniel, if possible, looked both chagrined (that she could still read his tells) and relieved (that no one else could). He should be proud at the latter. All the hard work he had been putting into their tutorial sessions while on stakeouts together was beginning to pay off. Even Jack had noticed before this that Daniel was getting better at his interrogations.

That was all fine and dandy for Daniel, but not so for her.

"I don't know how much I like it that you find me so predictable," she grumbled petulantly as she poured herself another shot of whiskey.

"Well consider my knowing you so well a good trait to have in a partner," he oh-so-casually declared.

She snorted and nearly spewed her whiskey that she had just downed all over the table at his words. It took her several moments to recover, and even then she was gracelessly gasping past the burning of her sinuses, "P-p-partner?"

Jack's blue eyes sparkled with manic glee and his smirk turned into a smug and satisfied Cheshire grin, as he explained for the entertainment of all, "Yeah, Marge, partner. Johnson thinks you're a wild card and that I am the only one who has even a remote chance of keeping up with you."

"Oh? And what makes him believe that is even 'remotely' possible?" she retorted coolly.

He shrugged and then said impishly, "Could be all those ' _mein Kuschelbärs_ '."

"Well, in that case, I'm going to have to change it to ' _mein Esel_ '," she muttered darkly (to the delight of their rapt audience) as she glowered at the cards that Wallace had just dealt her.

Under the cover of her glare at their amused tittering, she studied their own reactions to their hands.

It pleased her to no end that her chances of exacting a little monetary revenge were exceptionally high this round.

~A~

"So what's the real reason for Johnson officially making us partners?"

Ambushed.

Jack had known that Carter wouldn't let this go, but he hadn't been expecting her to pounce on him as soon as he had tucked the sloshed Ramirez into a cab.

Fisher and Wallace were enjoying one last round of drinks with the remaining money he and Carter had left them. And he had thought she had gone home when boy-scout Sousa had. But no, she had waited until now, when he had no back up, to have her husky voice accost him from the dark.

It was perfect timing really.

Assuming a defensive position that would allow him to block or dodge any violent repercussions that might come his way, he asked with mock hopefulness, "Would you believe me if I said he wants to keep all his bad eggs in one basket?"

Silence. Not even a huffed sigh of impatience. Although he could not see her eyes in the shadows, he knew that they flashed with annoyance.

With a resigned sigh, he gave into the inevitable and admitted, "I was telling you the truth when I said he thought I could keep tabs on you, but what I left out was his theory that with all of my 'gender-equality coffee antics', I am the most likely agent in the office you will confide in if you go rogue again."

What he left out even now was that Johnson had ended this little speech with the caveat of 'as long as your little infatuation won't turn out to be a hindrance'. She didn't need to know that.

He waited expectantly for a growl of irritation, a gasp of indignation, or a snort of derision.

But she did none of these things. Instead, she quietly stepped forward and out of the shadows to look him squarely in the eye as she softly asked, "Would you want me to? Would you want to be my partner in crime?"

Had he claimed to have finally found her predictable? Ha, more fool him.

However…

However, as he stared at her earnest face and into her dark wide eyes, he knew that while she still had the ability to surprise him, he had managed to gain some level of understanding of her. And he knew that she was not asking 'Can I trust you to have my back?' but rather 'Do you want to risk your career for the sake of a true partnership?'

It only took him a few moments to realize that either way, the answer was yes.

Meeting her gaze squarely on, he pledged, "Carter, if you go down, I'll go down." A little more facetiously, he added, "And if that is the case, I want to have the fun of doing the crime as well as the _electrifying_ experience of The Chair. And if I get to stick it to Johnson in the process, well – _hoorah!_ "

Carter's breath had hitched in – surprise? joy? awe? He could not tell. Her following pleased smile that quickly shifted into a smirk as he had continued with his droll speech, he could read.

She was going to be merciful and let him off with a light tease.

"That's a little … _disturbed_."

"Ha, ha, pot meet kettle," he rejoined, as she turned and hailed a cab.

He had thought he had gotten the last word in, but then just before she slid into the back of the taxi, she declared with heavy significance, "No, Jack – _partner_."

* * *

 **A/N:** Yep, it's official ; )

Thoughts?


	12. Carter Injured

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** It has come to my attention that 'Scandinavian' is not a language. So as not to offend, I did some research and would like to amend my note from Undercovers: Day 2

\- Scandinavian is not _a_ language but a dialect continuum for the geographical areas of the Scandinavian peninsula (other languages are spoken there as well: Finnish, Estonian, and Sami languages); but this particular group of languages is also referred to as the Northern Germanic languages or Nordic languages

\- In regards to 'pillock', per Oxford dictionary, it began its use in the mid 1500s in the dialects of northern England and was based off the 'variant of archaic _pillicock';_ per Collins Dictionary and a few others, this archaic Scandinavian/Northern Germanic/Nordic dialect word 'pillicock' means 'penis'

If I have in anyway offended anyone by my lack of understanding or poor explanation, I do apologize most profusely. And please do correct me on this or any other errors I might make. I am always happy to take constructive criticism.

Oh, and 'flatfoot' is slang for police officer.

Anywho, onto Peggy and Jack...enjoy!

* * *

 **Carter Injured**

* * *

There were many 'worst moments' in his life. Most of them occurred during the war. Since then, the moment he found out Krzminski had been murdered, the moment Li was killed and he froze, and the moment he saw Dooley, well, _explode_ had to all be up there.

But this moment rivaled them all – the moment he saw Carter get shot.

Jack had never experienced the phenomenon of watching his life pass before his eyes when he was the one full of bullet holes. But when that bullet hit Carter…He definitely saw all of _their_ moments.

And with each one that flashed across his vision, he felt his throat closing, his blood pounding hot and icy all at once, and his chest tightening as if in a vice even while his heart threatened to pound through its expanding walls.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.

Well, he could. And it was just one thought over and over and over again: _'_ _ **I have to get to Peggy.**_ _'_

~A~

The mission had been going well.

Wallace had gotten a tip from one of his local 'flatfoot' buddies that Mick Riley was doing a deal tonight. This coincided with the report that Sousa had gotten from the cryptographers. Some splinter group of Leviathan was in town to pick up a crate of something or other for their mass-chaos-producing plan of the week. (Chaos-production that would somehow bring about world order – their logic still escaped him.)

It was an all-hands-on-deck kind of raid at an abandoned warehouse near the docks. Unoriginal to be sure.

Perhaps, it was because this seemed to be a stereotypical deal at the clichéd abandoned warehouse, or perhaps it was because Leviathan had only unleashed their occasional Evil-Wonder-Woman and Dottie had been in the wind for weeks. But whatever the reason, they had underestimated their quarry and had come unprepared.

All angles had been covered – all except for the snipers in the vents. The very same vents that were narrow and thin, that could only fit and support the weight of a child.

Later, much later, it was learned that this splinter group did not follow the philosophy that the advantage of child soldiers was that they were malleable and easier to train into elite warriors. No, to them, children are many, expendable, chattel, and not investments for the future. It had turned his stomach to learn this even while he gained the satisfaction of beating it out of the fascist bastards.

He and his fellow agents had managed to breach the perimeter of the warehouse and to encircle their targets, but as soon as they had tried to tighten the noose – gunfire had rained down on them from above.

Donald and Niedermayer got hit. Winged and grazed, but hit nonetheless. And they were all pinned down, either by sniper fire or by the defensive barrage of both seller's and buyer's henchmen.

He dove behind a concrete pillar and returned fire, dodging sprays of gunfire and flying chips of concrete or wood.

In the midst of the mayhem, he saw Carter twenty feet away, tucked behind some stacked crates and doing her best to scan the area and locate their enemy between bursts of gunfire.

He heard Johnson bark: "Where're the nests?!"

"The vents! My ten o'clock! The other?!"

"Eight – no _your_ 4 o'clock, Carter!" shouted back either Sousa or Sørensen.

"They're getting away!" Matthews warned.

As he peered around his pillar to double-check and fire off a few rounds, he saw that sure enough Riley and his customers making their way to the nearest and now un-blocked exit.

Before he could get done silently cursing Johnson for not taking the time to locate the getaway vehicles and disable them, Carter was shouting: "Shock and Awe on three! One!"

 _'Wait! What?'_

"Two!"

From his quick peek around the corner, he could see her ready to yank the pin from a flashbang. _'Ah shit.'_

"Three!"

She threw it – _Bang!_ A deafening boom rang out and a blinding flash lit the dim space, stunning their retreating prey. They were stumbling all over each other. But she didn't leave it at that, because while stumbling they weren't stopping, and there was still the snipers keeping them all pinned.

She darted out behind the crates firing at the vents riddling them with bullets, and then Carter was jumping up and tossing another stun grenade into a broken covering.

 _Bang!_

He and a few other agents tried to give her as much cover as they could. But it wasn't enough.

Despite the grenades and gunfire, the smoke from each, and the no-doubt disorientation of their senses, somehow someone got a lucky shot.

His Marge was one moment darting for another stack of crates, and the next his partner was spinning and blood was spraying as she toppled over the edge of the truck loading dock, disappearing into its recessed pit below.

With every fiber of his being, he wished to race to his partner's aid, but before he could overcome the debilitating combo of shock and his well-developed sense of self-preservation, he saw her dark head crop up over the edge and then lay cover fire for the others who were advancing on Riley's group.

Jack knew by her less than stellar accuracy that she was injured and in pain, but he also knew that his Marge would have his head if rushed to her aid like some white knight to her damsel-in-distress. So instead, he joined Ramirez and Fisher and outflanked the escaping Leviathan agents.

He did his job and he did it well.

When all was said and done, there were a few dead bodies to be bagged and tagged. Thankfully, none of their number. There were a few injured severely enough among their trussed up quarry that needed to go to the hospital before questioning. Johnson sent Wallace and Matthews to babysit them and look after Donald and Niedermayer.

Carter had escaped getting ordered to the hospital by excellent acting and by volunteering to supervise the removal of the girls' bodies from the vents.

When he walked over, she noted with quiet matter-of-factness, "'Ten O'clock' was killed by multiple gunshots. Probably mine. But 'Four O'clock', the one with the flashbang burns, looks like she chose death by cyanide."

Jack didn't look to see for himself. He was sure she was right. That, and he didn't want to be burdened with the mental images of two dead girls who somehow got caught up in the evilness of this damn depressing world. It would drive him faster to the bottom of the bottle that he was already predicting how his night would end.

Instead he focused on her, trying to assess where she had been hit.

When he didn't reply, she turned to face him, eyebrows raised inquiringly. She must have seen his anxious concern, because she tried to be reassuring with a soft but dismissive, "I'm alright, Jack."

Her shrug revealed her torn and bloodied sleeve, causing him to snap, "I can see that you _bloody_ well are."

She rolled her eyes at his misuse of British slang, but only sighed exasperatedly, "It's just a graze. The vest took the rest."

He sucked in a hissing breath as tried to block out the images of what she would look like now if she hadn't been wearing the vest or if it had been faulty.

"Fine," he bit out. "But I'll not have you wimping out on me later due to blood loss or fever from infection. I have a first-aid kit in the car."

Despite his gruff manner, she could clearly see through him, as she acquiesced with only a token protest of, "Fine. But if you're going to be doctoring me, I want a swig of whatever you got in that little flask you have with you."

He was too relieved to object to her indirect criticism of his field dressing skills, and only replied, "Axel's."

"Aces."

~A~

She followed him to the car, counting her blessings that it was Jack who was mother-henning her. If it had been anyone else, they would take one look at her wan and pale face and insist she go to the hospital, misinterpreting her adrenaline crash and emotional exhaustion for something worse.

But Jack though, when he looked at her, he scowled and muttered but he trusted her to know her limits.

It was nice. She hadn't had that. Not since the Howling Commandos, anyways.

"Take off your shirt."

"Excuse me?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Not your pants, Carter. Your shirt. Unless, you want me to damage it more by ripping off the sleeve?"

She glowered at him, for she could see in the dim streetlight that his blue eyes were glinting with amusement, tired amusement, but amusement nonetheless. She could also see that anxious concern of his, so she did as he asked and turned around to unbutton her shirt. She did so slowly, as all her aches and pains were beginning to catch up with her, and only a muttered, "Next time, say 'please'."

She half-expected him to quip, _"So there'll be a 'next time', sweetheart?"_ in reference to her undressing for him. But no, he was instead scowling at the dents in her vest. There were quite a few of them, which was why her ribs ached so.

When she went to say something, he just pursed his lips and shook his blond head at her, before reaching past her to grab the first aid kit from the open boot.

He did quick efficient work, and was quite gentle in his ministrations. In fact, his feather-light touch and the sight of his quick but sure slender fingers stirred something in her that had been dormant for years, and she thought would be forever.

 _'Crikey O'Reilly! You must still be on some kind of adrenaline high, Peg.'_

Her hormonal crisis was interrupted by his stepping back, crossing his arms, and glaring at her.

"'Next time' you had goddamn better not do that to me, Peggy."

His tone and manner raised her hackles. _'I mean, who does he think he is? I was just doing my goddamn job.'_

And she was going to protest, but he cut her off with a harsh and bitter: "I refuse to go to my partner's funeral, just because you've got a fucking death wish."

One would think that his profanity would have offended her further, but it, in fact, had the opposite effect. Jack _never_ used that sort of foul language around her. His Gam-Gam and Nana Maria had done 'such a number on him' that no amount of time in the military could have corrupted him, or so he had once fondly told her.

So the fact that he did so now meant that he had been deeply terrified for her (and/or possibly by her).

While this may have derailed her fury and tugged at her heartstrings a little, she could not promise him that she would not repeat her actions. But she would promise what she could.

Raising her good arm to put her hand to his shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze, she softly declared, "If any of my colleagues' lives are in danger or the mission is at stake, I am going to do what I _have_ to do, Jack." Over his growled objections, she added, " _But,_ I will promise to give you more warning – as much as I can – so that you have time to provide better cover fire."

Jack stared at her for full minute, mouth agape, before letting out a part sigh and part huff of quiet laughter. Finally, he grumbled even as he handed her the promised bourbon, "I don't know whether to be offended that you are insinuating that my cover fire was less than adequate and the reason for you getting shot or amused that you assume I am going to be Man Friday to your charging Crusoe in this partnership."

She smiled a little at this and then took a sip from his flask. Handing it back to him, she asked hesitantly, "Jack?"

"Yes, Peg?"

"Is that an acceptable compromise?"

She nearly cringed at the pleading in her voice, but she really _really_ wanted this partnership to work.

He eyed her speculatively for a moment, and then, the ass, made her sweat it out as he stowed away the med kit and shut the trunk.

When his eyes finally met hers again, they were a soft azure and his mouth was twisted into a rueful smile, as he quietly promised, "Yeah, I'll be your Man Friday."

To stop herself from getting all teary-eyed at this god-awful sentimentality, she nodded briskly in acknowledgement and then grinned, "So I bet five bucks that I can make my detainee spill his guts and turn on all his fellows first."

Jack snorted, "You're on. But loser buys breakfast."

"It's a da– Deal."


	13. Breakfast

**Moments**

* * *

 _Previously on Agent Carter: Moments…_

Jack snorted, "You're on. But loser buys breakfast."

"It's a da– Deal."

* * *

 **Breakfast**

* * *

 _A few hours later…_

The couple sitting in the back corner booth was not anything like the usual male-female pairings that frequent her family's hole-in-the-wall joint.

They did not sit all cuddly cozy next to each other or stare at each other adoringly like young lovebirds; nor did they steal sly glances at each other like those in an illicit affair do just after dancing a round of the forbidden mattress jig (although if they were any of those types, her money would be on the latter, judging by their disheveled appearance).

The man's blond hair was tousled, his face covered in day-old stubble, his tie loose and crooked, and his clothing wrinkled. The woman's brunette curls could definitely use a touch up as could her make-up. Her clothes were not only rumpled-looking, but her shirt had several ... burn holes?...and its sleeve was ripped in the shoulder too (and not along the seam). Both were bleary-eyed, if not cross-eyed from weariness, and his knuckles were bruised and swollen.

She might have chalked them up to being an embittered married couple, sitting in stony sullen silence of the post-knock-out-drag-out-fight variety, but their silence was one of comfortable companionability. Both sat on opposite sides of their booth leaning (slumping more like) against the wall and facing the restaurant, quietly savoring their coffees and then their 2 egg-2 bacon-2 toast breakfasts.

In fact the only time she witnessed the two verbally interact was when they placed their orders. When the woman had seconded her male counterpart's order, he had grunted an incredulous "Not tea?"

The woman (British of some sort) had merely arched an eyebrow.

He must have been on the receiving end of such a look often enough to have built up some sort of immunity, for he chuckled softly at her challenging look. She herself would have cowered, even if most of The Look's ire was diluted with obvious exhaustion, as it was right now (it was still that fierce).

And none of that interaction resembled any kind of business relationship she had ever seen either. Briefcase and suits be-damned. No secretary of her pretty-and-young quality was that familiar and privileged with her boss or colleague to look and act like she did, even the ones who also fit in the illicit affair category.

They were the quietest of her patrons, but obviously also the most fascinating. She did not know which had captivated her more – her compulsion to see which of the fatigued duo would face plant into their food first (the odds were pretty even on them as far as she could tell) or to witness their wordless dance. They passed salt and pepper for their eggs to each other or the milk for their coffee almost before the other knew they even needed it. There would be a startled look and then a wan grateful smile before they would slip partway back into their own little worlds – partway because there was always an awareness of the other.

When she brought over their to-go order and the bill, she was not surprised that the woman contributed to the tab by paying for her meal and half of the to-go order and that the gentleman did not protest, as they had been unconventional so far. She was surprised, however, by the man's mutter of "blasted Sousa" and even more so by the woman's low sympathetic laugh of "I taught the man too bloody well".

Blondie mock-glowered at her, even as he concernedly watched her stiff movements as she exited from the booth. Despite his gentlemanly angst, he did not offer her any assistance, at least none beyond picking up the carton of food and the briefcase before following her to the exit. She did not think the British woman would have accepted assistance from him had he offered.

She was so intrigued by them that she watched them through the front window even after they exited. She observed that though the woman had a self-sufficient aura about her, they still stood at the curb closer together than was typical for two 'just work colleagues' as they waited for a taxi, each angling their bodies towards the other as if wanting to lean on the other for support.

The shout for the order of table #5 being ready nearly cost her the chance to witness Blondie giving the Brit the briefcase as she got into the cab and then of him handing off the carton to her favorite high-tipping regular, who limped past the window with far more weariness than was typical of him as he headed to what she assumed was his nearby apartment.

As she went to go serve table five their order, she made a mental note to ask Daniel to dish about the mysterious pair tomorrow.

She just knew it would be a grand tale.

* * *

 **A/N:** in trying to picture how their little bet would end and who would end up paying for their breakfast date, my Muse spewed out this little _Avengers_ ' shawarma-like moment. I hope you enjoyed : )


	14. Retrieval at Shindig

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** I wanted to do an undercover party-crashing story with some Peggy Carter background and so my Muse latched onto the plot line of 'Madeline Pratt' of _Blacklist_ , which was then adapted and incorporated into this universe. So my disclaimer is that I obviously in no way own or profit from _Blacklist_. Jon Bokencamp and the peeps from NBC get all the glory and monies. I just _really like_ to play in everybody else's sandboxes.

Also, there is a _Firefly_ character reference. What can I say? I have a thing for strong female characters : )

As always, enjoy!

* * *

 **Retrieval at Shindi g**

* * *

"I don't like this plan."

"No, it's not ideal, but – "

"Not ideal? Now there's the understatement of the year. I mean, _come on_ , Carter. Grey is a notorious arms and black market dealer. The question is not 'if' he will stab us in the back for his real agenda, but 'when'."

Jack was sitting across from her in the exact same seat at _Endroit Cache_ that Ethan Grey, her former mentor, had been in three hours ago, but instead of the cool reserve and charming smiles that _he_ had worn, Jack was staring at her with understandable if unhelpful incredulity.

"One, his 'agenda' is that he is being coerced via extortion by this Ms. Bridges. He wants to recover his documents," she argued, attempting to allay her partner's fears of her mentor's potential backstabbing.

Before he could ask 'what documents?', she continued, "Two, he needs me, not the SSR, but _me_ to help him out because he trusts me and Emil Balder knows all his people or will hear rumor of his contracting someone else and will see them coming. And three, I think he truly wants us to have the list. Grey and his business thrive on chaos – HYDRA, Leviathan, Zodiac, all of their agendas are ultimately at cross purposes to his."

Jack's face went blank as he stared her, weighing the consequences of whatever decision he made.

She stared back, willing him to decide in her favor, to choose to truly be her 'partner in crime'.

And it would be crime. Because although what she was proposing to do would be in the name of protecting the nation and all it stood for, it would not be a sanctioned mission.

Johnson could not know. If their ambitious chief was to become aware that her C.I. was Ethan Grey, an infamous crime-lord of the Underworld, he would make it a priority to bring him into custody, which would ensure that Grey would turn on them, vanishing into the void with The List.

That list was far too important for some truly unattainable feather in Johnson's cap.

And far too important for her not to pull out all the stops.

With a heavy sigh, she fiddled with her shot glass, as she admitted softly, "And it's really not him I am worried about. It's her." _Saffron Bridges, a.k.a. 'Yolanda'_. From beneath lowered lashes, she pleadingly looked up at him and went for the sucker punch: "Which is why you are my ace in the hole."

Jack snorted, in both disgust and honest amusement. "Stop it with your womanly wiles, Carter. I'll do it."

She could have kissed him in that moment. She was so overwhelmed with gratitude. But as that probably fell under the category of 'womanly wiles', she settled for a soft smile and a signal to the bartender to bring over another round of shots.

~A~

"Mr. and Mrs. Raymond, welcome to my humble abode," Emil Balder, host of the charity gala and also dabbler in black market fencing, politely greeted them with the aliases that Ethan had provided them.

Jack replied with equally courteous nothings, and then he suavely swept them into the grandiose ballroom that could only be in the home of a man from 'new money'. There was _a lot_ of glitter and gold.

Peggy couldn't decide if it was a good or bad thing that she had chosen to wear the red silk evening gown rather than her gold one. If she had worn the gold, she might have blended in more with her surroundings – practically blended in with the wallpaper. But even as she thought that, she realized she had still made the best decision. The gold had too many memories attached to it, memories tainted with guilt and grief for Colleen and of being a lone wolf. She wasn't that girl anymore.

"Who are we supposed to be again?"

"Some mid-level banker and his wife," she reminded Jack absentmindedly, as her gaze scanned the room, looking for familiar faces and noting the strengths and weaknesses of the security.

"Mid-level? For the purposes of blending in and remaining anonymous?"

"Yes, Jack."

"Well, you failed miserably in that dress, my dear."

His back-handed compliment pulled her out of her reverie and brought her gaze to meet his openly appreciative one, and when he saw that he had flummoxed her, his blue eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth, even as he drolly noted, "Now's the time, wife, you say something along the lines of how I 'clean up nice too' or I 'look dashing in that tux'."

"I would, _husband_ , but I'm a little bit miffed that you are too busy fishing for compliments and have yet to ask me to dance," she retorted with faux-annoyance.

At her words, Jack eyed the already twirling couples warily, but upon seeing that it was a simple waltz, he gallantly offered her his arm and asked, "Shall we?"

She agreed with alacrity and they swiftly and seamlessly merged with the others. She was a little bit amazed at how effortlessly they were able to do so, but more amazed at how unconsciously she had let him take the lead. It had been a long time since she had instinctively trusted someone like that.

This, and the fact that she was enjoying a little too much the feeling of being in Jack's arms, distracted her from her goal of room surveillance, which was why Grey was able to sneak up on her.

"Do you mind if I cut in?"

His cool voice startled her so much that she literally jumped out of Jack's arms, allowing her mentor to step right in and steal her away.

She shot Jack an apologetic glance before she got twirled away to the other end of the room, much closer to their objective than she had been before.

"I was expecting Howard's stooge to be your back-up," Ethan noted dryly.

"This is a little bit beyond his getaway driving skill-set. Is that a problem?" she asked, trying to act as if she did not care if it was – but she really did. Grey was known to quietly, if not bloodlessly, sweep 'problems' under (or neatly rolled up in) the nearest rug.

Ethan Grey had been her mentor in the French Resistance, when as a young rebellious seventeen year-old she had runaway to help out her brother who was fighting in the war and her French cousins who were fighting for their freedom. He had taken a shine to her 'spirit' and had found her 'cunning' useful and thus worth fostering. She had been so out of her depth that she had been thankful for his almost fatherly (and certainly non-lecherous) self-appointed role that she had not minded that he was a kingpin in the black market dealing world. In fact, that had proven to be quite the asset in their endeavors.

He had been the one to curb her idealism with practicality, and that same very highly instilled pragmatism was what had persuaded her to agree to dance with this devil again.

After a moment, he replied thoughtfully, "No, he certainly looks capable enough…just possibly too capable. Like a cop."

"He's off the clock, just like I am," she reassured.

"As you say," he replied blandly, and then before she could sigh her relief that he still trusted her word, he twirled her around and then pulled her close so that his mouth was next to her ear, "Over my shoulder, do you see her?"

She didn't have to question which 'her', and she did indeed see and recognize the curvy redhead that valued no one and no cause but her and her interests alone. Saffron bloody Bridges. Or as she had been cursed many times in the Resistance 'Yo- _putain de_ -landa.'

"I thought the reason she stole your little black book was because she couldn't steal this statue herself."

"So one would think," he mused, but then he shrugged the question and all its implications of treachery off to look down at her and ask, "Are you ready?"

"As much as Lizzie Ross ever was," she replied nostalgically.

Grey smiled in appreciation at her reference to her Resistance alias, and then he spun her out and into the passing waiter.

And with a great crash, champagne went flying.

~A~

Jack watched old chrome-dome whisk Carter away. Although he was envious of the man's dexterity, he was proud to note that his Marge looked to be far more stiff and uncomfortable in the arms of her urbane old friend than she had felt in his.

He didn't allow himself to revel in the satisfaction, tempting though it may be. He was a professional after all.

No, instead he moved to stand in an unobtrusive corner, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing server to better blend in with his surroundings. It was difficult to do as he had never been a party wallflower before. It helped to channel his inner-Sousa, or what he imagined Sousa would act like at this sort of shindig – slouched, shy and nervous, and dour-looking. Perhaps, like a lost puppy dog. No, a lost _Basset Hound_ puppy dog. Yeah, that was it.

From beneath lowered eyes and from behind a potted fern, he spotted 'Her'. The curvaceous red-head in the emerald green dress was no longer sporting the demure charming smile of a few seconds ago, but was curling her pouty lips in distaste at…Ethan Grey and Peggy Carter.

The gentleman at her elbow had leaned down and whispered something into her ear, and Ms. Bridges' look of disgust transformed into one of coquettish delight.

That fleeting look of loathing and that look alone confirmed for him Carter's suspicions that Grey's former lover was up to something, and not just anything, but plain and simple revenge.

 _'What did he do that caused her to hold a grudge all these years?'_

 _'He chose the Cause over her, left her to defend herself after a job went wrong so that he could get information to the Underground. And she felt he chose it over her because it was filled with young, idealistic, and impressionable girls.'_

 _'Was she wrong?'_

 _'Yes and no, you're quickly disillusioned in those first few weeks…but he did manage to recruit quite a number of the survivors for his organization…and she failed in managing getting any of us killed in her sabotage attempts…'_

As Jack recalled this almost soul-revealing conversation with Peggy and he watched Saffron's covert glances in the dancing couple's direction, he knew that the woman recognized her – if not actually her, then at least her as one of Grey's 'type'. And he knew that the con-woman was quickly including her into her vengeance plans.

But before he could figure out a way to warn her – Grey spun her into the server.

Champagne went flying, ladies went shrieking about ruined dresses, and Carter went slipping stealthily away amidst the commotion.

He would just have to trust that she could handle it. And in the meantime, wait and watch the shrew for any sudden and shady moves.

 _'I am a professional. Carter is a Howling Commando in all but name…And damn it, I will not worry myself into an early grave like Susan…I am a professional…"_

~A~

 _"Jesus Christ, man! Watch where you're going!"_

 _"Oh my dress! David, my dress! It cost – "_

 _"Can you believe the clumsiness of the – "_

 _"Look, I am sorry, sir. If you'll…"_

Peggy took a deep breath and shut out all the noise along with the door to the stairwell behind her. No one had noticed her slip away. Ethan had picked her target well.

Now, for the mission.

Her objective was a safe two floors up this monstrous mansion, one hallway corridor over, and with two sets of guards that do sweeps every 15 minutes.

Glancing at her watch, she saw that she had 3 minutes to make it to her window in which the door she needed to get into would be in the blind spot of each team.

Forty-six stair-steps (in an evening dress and high heels) and 360 seconds later, she reached the double oak doors only slightly winded.

She tried the handle. It moved, but when she tugged, the doors did not.

 _'Stars and stripes. I have 45 seconds until…'_

Taking a deep steadying breath, she pulled a bobby pin from her up-do and inserted into the dead-bolt, trying not to let her racing heart and pounding blood distract her from the feel of the tumblers.

 _'Thirty-five…_

 _Thirty-six…_

 _Thirty-seven…'_

 _Click._

She slipped in through the doors and quietly shut them behind her. Just in time too, because she could hear the heavy-tread of one of the guards rounding the corner at the end of the hall.

She turned from the doors and stared at the behemoth-sized, steel-plated, shiny new vault.

She was at the point of no return. If she was caught now, she could get charged with trespassing. If she touched that safe and tried to crack it with Ethan's or her own trade gizmos, she would be once again jeopardizing her career for an old war buddy – hers and Jack's.

She could just picture how that conversation would go:

 _"So tell me, Ms. Carter – or is it Mrs…Raymond? – why is it that you were trying to steal a nearly priceless cultural artifact at a charity fundraiser, no less?"_

 _"Well, officer, I am an agent of the SSR and it was a matter of national security. You see inside the statue is a list – "_

 _"Uh-huh, SSR and national security, you say? Then how come Chief Johnson is denying any sanctioned missions? Would it perhaps be because you are really working for the man you were seen with earlier, one Ethan Grey, underworld crime-lord and Interpol's most wanted?"_

Peggy thought about it a moment longer, thought of what the information on that little piece of paper could mean, and decided that hell yes it was worth it.

 _'Besides the trick is not getting caught'._

She pulled the safe-cracking gadget pieces from her small clutch. She then assembled it as per Grey's directions and attached its tri-pod points to each side of the dial, and then with baited breath she watched it as it spun it around and around and back and forth as it searched for the combination.

She was just at the point of telling Ethan he could take his fancy thingamajig and shove it because she was about to miss her next and last window while these sets of guards were on shift, when there was a sudden whir of the dial and hiss of the safe's seal release.

She quickly dismantled the device and stowed it into her purse, before swinging the door fully open.

And that is when the not-so silent alarm went off.

All over the building.

* * *

 **A/N:** French-to-English translation: _putain de =_ fucking

Also, 'chrome-dome' = 'baldhead' in 1940's slang

'Lizzie Ross' is in reference to Marvel's Elizabeth 'Betsy' Ross, whom Hayley Atwell's character is partly based on; my Peggy's French Resistance origins prior to joining military and later SSR is my attempt to include some of the original Peggy Carter backstory into this universe.

Anyways...thoughts?


	15. Retrieval at Shindig part 2

**Moments**

* * *

 **Retrieval at Shindi g: Part 2**

* * *

"Oh my, you're the most ducky shincracker for a career banker that I have ever met!" giggled the blond in his arms.

She did that a lot, giggled that is, and while that was an annoying trait in any dame, it was an even more undesirable trait in a prop in one's eavesdropping scheme.

As soon as Grey had pulled his trademark move and cut in on Ms. Bridges' dance, Jack had left his corner and charmed the nearest girl onto the floor. But thanks to this chit's giggling and chattering, he had yet to hear a word that they were saying.

He did notice that for a renowned con-woman she struggled to hide her emotions when it came to Ethan Grey. He had caught more than one flash of fury flick across her face as Grey whispered something into her ear.

But what scared him the most was the satisfied smirk that settled there when the alarm went off.

 _EEEP! EEEP! EEEP!_

He barely even registered it when his dancing partner's father jerked her away from him and muttered something about Balder having a safe room.

He was only fixated on that triumphant smirk of that Bridges broad and had only one thought: _Peggy was caught in this bitch's trap. Peggy was in danger._

 ** _Bang! Bang!_**

The alarm's blaring and his frantic thoughts were interrupted by the sound of gunshots.

He followed the sound and the resultant screaming to its source – Grey holding a gun and firing it into the air, beneath him was the prone and unconscious body of a guard.

He watched Grey toss the gun into the nearby punch bowl before heading for the same servants' stairwell that Carter had disappeared into.

Knowing that Carter had backup coming, (ruthless and cutthroat backup was swell by him), meant that he could now focus on his mission again.

And just in time too, as he spotted her emerald green-clad form disappearing into the aforementioned 'safe room'.

Spotting the nearest dignitary – the charity's foundation chairman – he acted as if he were his assistant/bodyguard and got them both hustled into the room before it was sealed.

As soon as he heard the door click shut behind him, he prayed that he made the right decision – because there was no way he could help her now.

~A~

The safe was a bust. Or rather there was no bust, no statue of the trickster god.

She didn't have long to dwell on the empty safe. Two guards came bursting in with guns raised.

Not seeing any other recourse, she allowed them to take her into their custody. This wasn't Jack or Daniel. They would shoot.

They handcuffed her hands behind her back and led her through a series of doors to a back corner office. It was so far in the back that she did not think anyone could hear her screams, even if they did turn off the still blaring alarm.

They wordlessly sat her in a chair in the middle of the room and tied her arms and legs down. These silent goons had this down into such a pat routine that she wondered if Emil Balder's 'black market side-business' was actually a _side-_ business.

And she was not at all surprised to hear (aside from the fact that they spoke at all) one of them say to the other, "Go get Cleaver. The boss will want her questioned before the cops get here."

She was expecting 'Cleaver' to look like all the other toughs that she had ever seen who were favored in beating information out of someone, especially women.

But she certainly was not expecting to see Ethan Grey come charging through the doors holding out a handful of red rhinestones and exclaiming in a high tenor voice:

"There you are! Look! Look at what you have done to your dress! It's a travesty!"

"Sir, you shouldn't be here."

"Shouldn't be here?" Ethan asked the man in outrage, like a man who had just had his lost button pushed. "Damn straight, I shouldn't! I should be in the Hamptons sipping a dirty martini. But _nooo_ , I have to be here ritzy-ing and spiffing up Sergei's latest dolly so that he can compete with all 'de Western glitterati'."

It was quite the performance. And he had the snooty Parisian fashionista accent and mannerisms down to a tee. Her ability to switch from her native cadence to an American drawl and back again was one of the best tricks he had ever taught her.

He was so good that the man got caught up in his tale of woe and asked hesitantly, "Sergei?"

"Yes, Sergei Ilyich!"

At that well-connected name, the guard blanched.

"Oh, I see you recognize the name," Ethan commented wryly and then with even more plaintive exasperation, he pleaded, "And what do you think that man will do to me when he finds out she has ruined – _ruined, I say_ – a £12,000 dress?!"

And while with one hand he dramatically held out his pile of rhinestones that she had unobtrusively picked off her less than $100 dress to leave a trail through the maze of doors, he pointed the other accusingly at her lap.

When the man actually bent down to examine her 'folly', Ethan seized his moment and slammed his rhinestone-filled fist into the guard's temple.

And just like that he was out for the count and slumped over her lap.

While Ethan untied her, she wriggled in her seat to scoot the chump off of her. As soon as he hit the floor with a gratifying thud, she asked, "So the statue? Yolanda?"

"Gone," he admitted with a resigned sigh. "Just like we need to be."

She nodded her agreement, even though it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

As soon as her blood was flowing into her extremities again, they hastily made their way to their escape route. Neither one of them wanted to tango with 'Cleaver' or any of his buddies.

It was now all up to Jack.

~A~

Jack watched as Saffron Bridges made her way through the crowded room like an angel of mercy. Kind and encouraging word here to a distraught debutante, a pat on the back to an elderly woman there, or a brave smile and handkerchief to a young bloody-lipped man there.

He watched her progress and noted that while it may have seemed to be directed by those in need, he could clearly see that the end goal was to the back of the room, which was lined with shelves filled with valuable of _objets d'art_ – including the one and only Swedish green marble figurine of Loki.

As soon as she reached its spot, she turned to face the room and waited patiently like all the rest of them. Occasionally, she would remember to hug that box-purse of hers (that she had somehow miraculously managed to have with her) as if trying to comfort herself. It was enough of an act that no one noticed that she still seemed far too pleased with herself.

He had to give it to her though. She had reason to be. Her plan was clever and utterly diabolical. Blackmail Ethan Grey to rob a competitor, set him and whichever Resistance girl he turns to for help up as bait, and when the trap closes, use it as a distraction to get into the place the prize really is, and then be escorted out to safety by the clueless police whenever they show up to save the day.

It was a brilliant plan. And it might have worked except for the fact that Grey's Go-To girl wasn't just any girl – no, she was SSR Agent Peggy Carter, the bane of HYDRA's existence in any form.

And Carter had him.

So when the local P.D. finally did arrive and the commotion of the frightened party-goers bustling out of the tightly packed room prevented him from witnessing Ms. Bridges make the actual swipe of the figurine, his sharp eyes did note that her box purse looked considerably heavier than it had been a few moments ago.

He followed her out the door (a few people back), and when they exited the mansion, he signaled his men.

Sousa tripped her with his cane as she passed him on the stairs, sending her and her bag flying. Ramirez went in and lifted the statue from her purse, replacing it with a brick of equal weight before disappearing into the crowd, and then sweet baby-faced Palmer, honorably-looking Fisher, and apologetic Sousa all clamored to help the poor fallen damsel.

And what did he do? He whistled to himself as he passed them, content with a job well done.

For that is one thing that he had learned as interim-Chief, how to use resources well and delegate wisely.

The woman never stood a chance.

~A~

"Letter for you, Carter."

Peggy looked up from the cryptography report she was reading to see that Niedermayer had tossed un-postmarked envelope on her desk.

She picked it up curiously and cautiously. The lack of postage stamps told her that it wasn't from the Howling Commandos (and her family wouldn't send anything to the office). It also told her that it had been hand-delivered. That and it was very fine stationery told her that it was from one of two people.

Trying not to attract the attention of anyone, she kept her face blank and her breathing even as she used her letter opener to carefully slit the envelope away from her. When there was no puffs of mysterious powder, she reached inside and pulled out the letter and immediately recognized the elegant handwriting.

 _My dear Lizzie,_

 _First of all, I wanted to say that was a job well done._

 _You managed to obtain the list. I hope it is proving helpful_

 _in identifying and locating those pesky deep-cover Zodiac_

 _agents._

(It had. They had two left of the twelve on the list that had been hidden in the base of the statue. The SSR had moved fast enough on ten of them so that their comrades' warning had not reached them in time, which is the main reason Johnson hadn't fired them and had only reprimanded them for 'not keeping him in the loop'.)

 _I hear that you also managed to return the Trickster to_

 _its rightful owner before Emil's man got his grubby paws on_

 _it._

(She had, via a contact in Interpol).

 _Secondly, I wanted to say thank you for playing bait_

 _that night. I knew Yolanda would not have been_

 _able to resist watching you and me meet our_

 _bloody ends, and I was able to send my man_

 _in to her hotel suite to reacquire my property. It is_

 _so_ _nice when_ _your opponents act in a predictable_

 _manner._

(Peggy wanted to roll her eyes at his smug tone. As if she didn't know that had been his end game all along.)

 _It would have been equally nice if your young_

 _man had done the same. Then my people could_

 _have reacquired the statue as well. I had an_

 _overeager buyer all lined up for it. (I would have_

 _of course given you the list.) Ah well, c'est la vie._

 _I do not know if you want to tell him, or not (I know_

 _how you don't like your men to think too highly_

 _of themselves), but I was rather impressed with_

 _how well he played our game of Charity Charades._

 _He's a good match for you, Lizzie. He'll keep you_

 _on your toes._

 _Au revoir,_

 _Ethan G._

Peggy was entirely unsure of how to respond to that last part. Grey had assumed that Jack hadn't told her what he was going to do. He had assumed that she was continuing to be lone wolf, self-reliant Peggy.

Now granted, when Jack had first brought up his plan, she had vetoed it. But he had brought her around by arguing that just because Johnson couldn't be trusted not to respect the term 'confidential informant' didn't mean that others couldn't. Jack had proven that she not only had her partner watching her back but her team as well.

She was jerked from her reverie by the man himself sitting on the edge of her desk, as he tried to nosily read her letter, asking, "Is that from …?"

She pulled it close to her chest, even as she confirmed, "Yes. He was just saying congratulations for the purpose of reminding us that we are even."

"So he got his super-secret documents, did he?" he mused sardonically.

"Yes."

He sat there for a moment longer, thinking what she did not know, and she was just about to ask him to shove off so that she could get back to her work, when he smirked down at her.

"What, Jack?" she asked impatiently.

His smirk widened.

"Well, Carter, his debt with me may be cleared, but yours isn't."

"Oh?"

He stood up then, but only to lean down to smugly whisper in her ear, "Yeah, you owe me an uninterrupted dance."

He then sauntered over to his desk to begin going through his own mail, leaving her slightly flushed and mouth agape.

'Her man' keeping her on her toes, indeed.

* * *

 **A/N:** French to English translation: c'est la vie = such is life

Also, 'ducky shincracker' = 'good dancer' in 1940's slang

So thoughts?


	16. Jack Injured

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** Warning - there be delicious angst ahead.

* * *

 **Jack Injured**

* * *

"Everyone! Split up among the crowd and check the perimeter! Look for potential threats – except, you Sousa, and you Carter!" Jack instructed as they all piled out of the cars.

They were at the fourth annual of the World Exposition of Tomorrow. And somewhere among the crowd was a Zodiac agent or two that wanted to kill its founder and her friend.

"You two are going to try to find Stark in this mess and try to talk him out of showcasing tonight. I'll check backstage and direct the bo– " he stopped himself just in time from causing a mass panic with the terror-inducing 'b' word, reducing "b– sniffing dogs" to simply, " – the K9 units."

Peggy couldn't help but admire his strategy. If there was going to be any agent aside from her that could talk Howard out of his favorite moment of glory, it would be the anti-thesis of glory-hound, Agent Daniel Sousa.

As Jack disappeared into the mob, Daniel asked her hopefully, "Do you know where Stark will be?"

As Peggy scanned the crowd, she shook her head in the negative, causing Daniel's shoulders to slump.

But then she spotted their salvation. Nodding to the tall thin man near the front of the main stage, she declared happily, "No, but I know who might."

As soon as they were in hearing distance, she shouted for Mr. Jarvis, who signaled to the security guard that they could approach the stage.

"Do you know where Howard is?"

Jarvis shrugged and made a longsuffering face, "Probably _celebrating_ early with his latest No. 1 fan."

"Which would be where?" Daniel prodded.

"In or near his dressing room, I would imagine," he replied sheepishly, again with a shrug, but then their presence and somber expressions got through to him, and he asked hesitantly, his brow furrowing with concern, "What's this about?"

Ignoring him, Peggy turned to Daniel and ordered, "Go and help Jack find Howard backstage."

Daniel did so and was able to get passed the second security guard with the combination of his badge and a nod from Jarvis. She was relieved to see that not just anyone with supposed credentials had an all-access pass.

Finally, she explained to her patiently waiting friend, "One of the Zodiac agents in custody finally broke down in interrogation and informed us that the remaining two agents would know by now that they were the last, and that this would prompt them to engage in their contingency plan."

"Which is?"

Well, there really was no way to sugarcoat it, so she bluntly stated, "Kill Howard Stark. Tonight."

While Jarvis predictably spluttered his astonishment, she scanned the area assessing threats, which is a lot like trying to find a homicidal Waldo in a Fourth of July parade.

To answer his question of "W-w-why?", she mused, "I don't know for sure. To stop him from revealing something? To make a statement? I just don't know, and even if I did, I don't think it would make sense."

 _'There are no good angles for snipers. Crowd control has managed to keep the audience at a safe distance, which leaves the threat coming from either No. 1 fan as Dottie 2.0 or from a staff member…'_

"Walk me through Howard's presentation," she instructed.

"What?"

"I'm sure you have watched the rehearsal for this. Walk me through from when Howard enters stage right until he exits stage left."

"Oh. Well, actually, it's the other way around. He enters stage left…"

As Jarvis described the scene to her, she pictured it: _Howard walking up the stairs on the left, past the camera, to shake the introducer's hand, the speech is given…yada-yada-yada, award is given, Howard shakes award presenter's hand for the camera at the other end of the stage, exit stage …_

"The camera!" she blurted excitedly. "The first one. It's redundant."

Jarvis looked at the cloth-covered 'camera' at the other end of the stage quizzically, and seeming unfazed by its presence, he noted dryly, "Which is probably why it's covered."

Peggy's instincts were screaming that something was off. She scowled at it and the one closer to them, carefully contrasting the odd differences: _It's longer and narrower and while covered has an operator fiddling with it…_ _and it is on a tri-pod_ …

Her mind raced and filled in the blanks that her subconscious had been telling her all along – This was no camera, but some form of sub-machine gun.

Even as she finally made this realization, she knew that her mind hadn't worked fast enough, because she could see that Howard was on his way out, and she could do nothing to save him in time. She was on the wrong end of the stage.

As she frantically searched for anyway to stop the horror of watching her friend get mowed down in front of her, her terrified gaze met that of Jack's and then she found herself screaming. To this day, she doesn't know what, but it must have been enough because it clued Jack into the danger.

And the next thing she knew her partner was leaping in front of her friend, tackling him to the ground, and being riddled with bullets.

~A~

"Is he going to make it?"

Peggy shrugged. She had been asking herself that over and over again, praying and begging for the answer to be yes, as she stared helplessly through the hospital room window at his comatose body, which was pinned and poked and be-tubed to the point she did not know where he started and they began.

After a moment's pause, she answered her old friend tiredly, "They say if he doesn't get an infection, his chances are good…but I just don't know."

"Geez, Peg, I'm so sorry…" Howard exclaimed in a half-whisper as he rubbed his hands through his hair in a gesture fraught with equal helplessness. "I know he was your partner, and if he doesn't pull through, I – "

She couldn't take it anymore. His pity, his guilt, she just couldn't, not when she had her own to bear. So she whirled on him and hissed bitterly, "You'll what? Torture yourself like you did over Steve? Build me a tin-man partner to fight the evil witches of the world? One with the perfect combination of brain and brawn with the added benefit of no actual life force to mourn when he inevitably dies because that's what this business does? Chews up all the good men and spits them out or takes them to the Void?"

Howard stood there, mouth-agape, his eyes briefly flickering with hurt and anger and understanding, before he buried them or shrugged them off or whatever Howard does with unwanted emotions, and in their place was self-deprecating humor.

"No, I have learned that self-flagellation does not look good on me, and even I know that I have limitations," he acknowledged with a slight wry grin, which quickly changed into a teasing one as he added with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "But now that you mention it… some part of me is itching to take you up on that challenge, Dorothy."

When that did not get a smile out of her, the mercurial man dropped his façade of levity, fixed her with his most somber of expressions, and vowed, "But seriously, Peg, I will make it my life mission to find some way to offer a modicum of protection for those idiotic heroes who go flying about trying to shield the rest of us idiots, or pathetic geniuses as the case maybe."

It wasn't the smoothest of speeches that Howard had ever made, but it was certainly heartfelt. And if anyone could do it, this 'pathetic genius' could.

"Promise?"

"On the life of my firstborn."

If she had been in any other state of mind, she would have asked him how many bastard kids he had out there. But she wasn't, so she simply nodded and turned to resume her silent vigil.

Howard sensing that he was dismissed gave her shoulder a quick comforting if awkward squeeze and then left.

As she stared at Jack's near lifeless body, she tried not to think of all that could go wrong and instead on all that had gone right so far.

Jack had been grazed on the shoulder and his side, missing any major arteries and bone. At worst he would have 'heroic scars' to dazzle women with. His leg had taken two bullets, again missing his femoral artery and bone. He had taken one in the ass, a much less swoon-worthy scar. But the ones that really counted were the three he took in the chest. One had collapsed a lung, and the two others had been inches from his heart.

Overall, the doctors had said he had been extremely lucky. Although the bulletproof jacket had not been up to protecting Jack from assault rifle caliber bullets at such close range, it had slowed them enough to lessen the impact and thus internal damage. But even then, he might not have survived if there had not already been medical personnel nearby to do immediate emergency procedures. He would have bled out or drowned in his own blood otherwise.

That last part she knew to be true. In fact at the time, she had thought it had happened a dozen times over.

She remembers him coughing up blood and leaking it everywhere. Of her and Daniel's hands and clothes being soaked with it. After they had returned the favor and pumped the shooter full of lead, they had raced to Jack's side and tried to stop the bleeding.

She doesn't remember much after Jack had been loaded into the ambulance, not what she did with those bloody clothes (burned them she hoped), not what they did with the shooter's body or his camera-rifle.

She did remember tracking down the remaining Zodiac agent to the docks, where he was attempting to be smuggled out of the country. She remembered aiming her Colt .45 at him and instructing him to 'give himself up' and trying not to give into temptation to squeeze the trigger just a smidge.

Whether she would have or not, was a decision that had been taken out of her hands by Dottie's sniper bullet, which claimed him first.

Peggy knew it was her, as the rifle that was left behind had a handkerchief tied to it with a smudge of red lipstick.

After that, Johnson had pulled her from the hunt and sent her home for the night. But she had found herself here, holding vigil, as if by her willpower alone she could save him.

Which was ridiculous, because nothing was more obvious than the fact that the ghost of a woman reflected back in the window was of no use to anyone.

But she couldn't go home to sleep. Every time she tried, Jack's bloody flight to shield Howard and his bleeding, gasping for breath body flashed across her retinas. She had never found Steve's body, and so his voice, tinny through the radio, haunted her dreams, and now Jack's bullet-torn body did too.

 _'I hate him. I officially hate him. If he had stayed as the office's obligatory pompous jackass, I wouldn't care so damn much. But nooo, now he is something else. He means something else…'_

She doesn't know what he meant – means – to her, but she could admit, even if only to herself, that he does mean _something_ , and she was terribly afraid that like with Steve she would not get the chance to explore that something.

She glanced at her watch and counted down the hours until the earliest time she could get away with being back in the office.

For the only good thing about all of these tumultuous and torturous feelings was that their prisoners sensed them in her, bubbling just beneath the surface.

And when she questions them, she is truly terrifying.


	17. Jack's Smirking Revenge

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** as a _Fight Club_ fan, I have been dying to use this chapter title every time I see any reference to Jack's characteristic expression. And so I have seized upon the opportunity here, at of course Howard Stark's expense ; )

And now may you be equally entertained by...

* * *

 **Jack's Smirking Revenge**

* * *

"Attention everyone! I have an announcement to make!"

Theodore Clifford's deep bass voice managed to cut through the office hubbub of Jack's 'Welcome-Back-We're-Happy-You're-Not-Dead' party, as Ramirez had so aptly if facetiously put it.

As soon as he had everyone's attention, he continued, "As you all know, my contract as your training instructor was renewed."

There were some half-hearted cheers at this, but mostly good-natured groans, and among the select few who knew how it came to be, there were smirks. Jack had told her that Johnson had done a complete 180 on his decision to discontinue the program; for when Wallace had 'offhandedly' told his highly competitive chief that per his uncle, the NYPD was trying to steal the man out from under them – Johnson had apparently decreed that this was a 'dirty underhanded move that was not to be born.'

"What you don't know is that it had the condition of my writing a training manual."

This time there were boos and hisses amidst the groans. Peggy, herself, couldn't help but think that this was just par-for-the-course for bureaucratic Johnson – more paperwork.

Clifford waved away the groans, and smiled toothily as he concluded his announcement with: "In light of recent events, I thought you should all know that the chapter "How _Not_ to Get Shot" was inspired by our dear friend and hero of the hour, Jack Thompson."

Jack grimaced but did a half-bow from his seat on the couch, which had been brought out especially for the occasion.

Before the appreciative chuckles could return to the former din of good cheer, Ramirez stood up on a chair and clapped his hands, declaring, "Since we are at the awards portion of tonight's revelries, I would like to present my good friend, the lucky bastard, the dubious honor of being the Most _Holey-est_ of Agents!"

At his words, Reese and Palmer dramatically knelt before the guest of honor and presented him with a sports trophy. From her seat at the other end of the couch, she could see that it was one of those brassy figurines that are suspended mid-athletic motion, but as Jack held it up for all to see, she (and to the amusement of most others) noted that this one had been drilled and its numerous holes were painted with splashes of red.

Daniel was probably the only one who noticed that she was _not_ amused. Jack might have, but his attention was soon caught by the third announcement of the evening.

From the conference room desk chair, which he sat in as if it were a throne, Johnson declared, "You all laugh now, but word is the mayor intends to present you with a medal."

To Peggy's surprise (and no doubt Daniel's heart-stopping amazement), Jack, the bloody office peacock, did not preen at this, but rather he looked… _uncomfortable_ , to say the least. Tugging at his collar, he diffidently replied, "Oh, well, sir, I don't think I'm sufficiently recovered from my injuries for any award ceremonies, so I think I'll send my partner to accept on my behalf."

The room went entirely silent at this. No one, _no one_ – not even her and she knew that Jack had come a long way from the male chauvinistic asshole that had plagued her for months – had been expecting that.

It took Johnson a full minute to recover. Finally, he settled with a placating, "Well, I'm sure any ceremony can be held off until you're in tip top shape." And then to make sure that Jack knew he had no choice, Johnson asserted firmly, "It's good P.R., Thompson."

She could tell that Jack recognized that there was no escape to be had, especially in the sacred name of "Good P.R.", when he sighed and nodded reluctantly.

But then the Jack that they all knew and loved/hated was back, as his grudging grimace turned into a mischievous smirk of vengeance, "Well if it's for _public relations..._ I _insist_ that the famous fella I saved be the one to present it to me."

Once again the room erupted into appreciative laughter, but for Peggy, all she wanted to do was hit something and several someone(s) – Jack, Cliff, Ramirez, Reese, Palmer…anyone of them would do, really.

She was used to gallows humor, had even been known to participate in it, but when Cliff talked of 'how not to get shot', all she could think about was that if she had been more observant, more _something_ …her partner never would have needed to use himself as a shield in the first place. Not that she wasn't proud of him for overcoming his paralyzing in-combat fear, but he never should have _had_ to.

The defaced trophy was just too much. It brought forth images that she wished she could forget but knew she never would.

And while she could appreciate the poetic justice of making Howard do a press conference, she couldn't be satisfied with him blowing out all that hot air, which was practically his favorite thing to do aside from tinkering and 'fondueing'.

No, she would only be satisfied by holding him to his promise.

~A~

Jack could tell that Peggy had been itching to go after Johnson's announcement – well, even more so than she had been before.

So it had come as no surprise to him that as soon as everyone returned to their previous conversation, that she attempted to slip away.

Luckily for him, the elevator took its time reaching their floor after she summoned it, so he was able to limp his way to her side as it opened.

He was also able to hobble inside before anyone could protest the guest of honor ditching the party. And before she could, he complained with just a tad too much whine, "How the hell Sousa uses one of these all the blasted time I'll never know."

Sure enough his inconsiderate comment about crutches diverted her ire, as instead of raising objections to his presence, she was indignantly rebuking him with, "I _imagine_ out of necessity and with great fortitude."

He must not have hid his smirk well enough because she arched an eyebrow and queried warily, "Why are you here, Jack?"

"To walk you out to your, no doubt, waiting taxi."

She gave a scoffing snort, "Unnecessary, as I am sure you well know." _'Especially in your condition'_ was left unsaid but heavily implied by her nod to his crutch.

He let that go, and answered truthfully, "I wanted you to know that I really didn't want to accept the medal. I have never wanted any medals, just …"

He hadn't meant to refer to his undeserved Navy Cross and didn't know where he was going with that, but Carter seemed to as she nodded and stated with quiet understanding, "Just the respect of your colleagues for a job well done."

"Yeah."

They rode the rest of the way in contemplative silence, but before the elevator doors could open, Carter hit the emergency stop button.

Out of all the things he had been expecting her to say to him, the following wasn't one of them:

"Why did you jump in front of Howard? You don't even like him."

"It's my job, Carter," he snapped, more than a little offended that she thought he would let his personal feelings interfere with his duty.

"Bullshit," she fired right back. "You forget. I _saw_ you. You didn't make that choice to sacrifice yourself for him out of duty."

As her accusing gaze locked with his irate one, he flashbacked to that moment – seeing Carter's horrified and gutted expression as she calculated the impossible distance between her and the shooter who was already tracking Stark's progression across the stage.

"Alright, I admit that I am rather ambivalent about Stark's benefit to mankind," he blurted irritably, but because her dark gaze seemed to be able to pull anything from him, to motivate him to do anything even if it was highly contradictory to his nature, he confessed softly, "But I would do it again to prevent you from grieving another devastating loss."

His words seemed to satisfy her somewhat as she relaxed a smidge, enough to relax her jaw to nod and murmur quietly, "And now you know you're not the man from Okinawa."

Her words sent him reeling.

He _wasn't_ that man anymore. As he thought about it, he knew it to be true, deep in his bones. Even though he now knew what it was like to be shot to hell and back, he knew that if he were under fire again, he would not freeze. The time for second-guessing himself or for letting his fear cloud his judgment was over. He knew that if he were to ever be put in that position again, he would make the same choice.

When he resurfaced from his mind-blowing revelation, he realized that Carter had yet to release the hold on the elevator. She had more to say.

With great wariness, he prompted, "Carter?"

For another few moments, she said nothing, and then with more introspection and far less fury than he had been expecting, she mused aloud, "You know someone once asked me why a girl like me liked Howard the way I do…"

 _''Liked', who now?'_

"I told him that Howard is like a fungus – he grows on you…" She stopped her quiet contemplation of the elevator's carpet pattern to once again fix her gaze with his, as she concluded her out-from-left-field speech with: "And you are _Cantharellus cibarius._ "

"Huh?" was all he could articulate at her bizarre pronouncement. He was definitely not tracking with her. Stark, 'like', and metaphorical mushrooms was not a rabbit hole he had been prepared to follow her down.

She smiled pityingly at him, even as she yanked the carpet figuratively out from underneath him for the second time that night.

"My point is – what makes you think that I wouldn't be just as devastated by you getting shot and dying?"

Before he could entirely process this bombshell that she had just dropped, she released her hold on the elevator doors and slipped through the impatiently waiting crowd that was now piling into the lift.

And all that he could do was stare at her as she walked away with her dark head held high and all that he could think was that his Gam-Gam and Nana Maria would both agree – if he was a yellow-colored mushroom, then that woman was an onion, one that is _full_ of layers _._

~A~

 _A few weeks later on the steps of New York Bell Company…_

"I owe Agent Jack Thompson a tremendous debt of gratitude – a _life-debt_ – for his willingness to selflessly sacrifice himself for me…He is a hero, a hero for all Americans – nay all those who uphold the values of liberty, justice, and valor. I am humbled by his act of altruism and _gallantry_ on my behalf…Yes, _humbled_ , and pleased that he is alive, well, and fully recovered from his _substantial_ injuries to be presented with this medal for exemplary service today, and not posthumously like so many others, er, without further ado, Agent Thompson."

All the while Howard Stark grudgingly stumbled his way through his speech, Jack stood next to him, quietly prompting him. And although Peggy could not keep herself from rolling her eyes at his antics, she would be forever grateful that he was standing there at all – even with his goddamn smirk and all _._

* * *

 **A/N:**

If you didn't pick up on it, some of Stark's speech mirrors Jack's in episode 8, so I can't take complete credit for it.

Anywho, thoughts?


	18. Family, That Is

**Moments**

* * *

 **Family, That Is**

* * *

"Jack, you're pushing too hard."

It took all he had not to slam the observation room door in response to Carter's unwarranted, and certainly, unsolicited opinion. (It didn't help that Krzeminski's ghost was cough-chortling _'That's what she said'_ in the back of his mind either.)

"Well, he knows more, and he's not talking. So in my opinion, that means I'm not pushing hard enough."

He crossed his arms and scowled at her – not unlike he had been scowling at their stonily silent detainee in the interrogation room next door.

"Or your method just isn't working." She fired back.

"Oh, and I suppose a softer, gentler, more _teasing_ approach would be better?" He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Just to piss her off, because he knew how much she hated that. That and any disparagement to her femininity, (which had proven to be a far more useful weapon than had been expected).

"No, not necessarily, but I believe in the axiom 'work smarter, not harder'." _Dumb-arse_ wasn't said but it was certainly implied by her less than quiet huff of irritation.

"Alright, so what's your brilliant stratagem, Carter, huh?"

His snarled retort was practically spat in her face they were standing so close and toe-to-toe. Not his finest moment.

It was this charming and highly professional tableau that Wallace mercifully interrupted. Half-way leaning in through the door, he somehow managed to both apologize sheepishly and leer: "Er, sorry to interrupt your _lovers'_ quarrel, but Johnson is requesting your presence in the conference room."

While Carter was busy scowling at the man for his cheeky remark, he coolly asked, "Did he say why?"

"No," Wallace shrugged nonchalantly, and then in a manner that was too casual not to be feigned, he added, "But it could be because of the two Brits who strolled on in here with an all-access pass from the higher up muckety-mucks."

Carter's eyes met his. Her arched and questioning eyebrows mirrored his own, indicating that this was as much of a surprise to her as it was to him.

He didn't know which idea would have bothered him more – that his partner might have known and hadn't told him or that the seemingly omniscient Carter was just as much in the dark as he was about their mystery guests.

He scowled at their detainee through the two-way mirror and then shrugged. The sooner they met them, the sooner they got answers, and the sooner they could get back to business. Carter must have been of like mind, as she was already marching behind their broad-shouldered colleague.

Due to their height differential, he was able to get a glimpse of the Brits before she did.

Standing next to Johnson was an older man of thin stature, with thin lips, and even thinning hair, but perversely a bushy moustache, and just off to the side was a younger, shorter, and stockier gent with curly dark hair and rather bland features – unremarkable and forgettable except as soon as his eyes alighted upon Carter his whole face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

Somber Peggy wasn't much better as her face was suffused with joy as she launched herself at him exclaiming adoringly, "Benji!"

This 'Benji' was able to brace for impact just in time, returning her bear-hug that somewhat muffled his protests of "Awe! Come on, Peg-leg, not here!".

Johnson did a not so subtle clearing of his throat to break up the affectionate reunion of the whatever-they-were's, even as the older Brit laughed softly and teased, "I do believe it is a younger sister's prerogative to embarrass her elders."

Sister. So 'Benji' was older brother Benjamin Carter. Now that this chap had mentioned it, Jack could kick himself for not seeing the family resemblance. Even now, as the two separated, they were straightening their clothes and returning to their usual professional stoicism.

In a brisk and dignified manner, Brother Carter began introductions, "Sir, this is Agent Margaret Carter. Peggy, this is Mr. Jay, the Senior Operations Manager of our Western European branch."

"And this is Deputy Agent Jack Thompson, my partner," 'Peg-leg' dutifully introduced, almost with pride and without a hint of her earlier irritation with him.

Mr. Jay nodded to him politely but immediately switched his focus back to Carter. "It is my pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I have heard so much about you from Col. Phillips."

To everyone's amazement (Johnson choked on his coffee), Carter's response was to arch an eyebrow and wryly state, "I highly doubt that. The Colonel only gives grudging grunts of approval. Which begs the question…Are you trying to butter me up?"

Mr. Jay didn't seem to mind her brazenness, but was almost rather _charmed_ by it. His bushy moustache twitched as if he thought she was a cute kitten with claws. And because this 'muckety-muck' underestimated his Marge poorly, he responded accordingly by trying to downplay his purpose.

"It's only a _small_ favor, Ms. Carter."

His partner was not having any of it.

Pursing her lips, no doubt, in an attempt to keep her annoyance in check, she coolly if a bit stiffly corrected, " _Agent._ Agent Carter. And it's not 'small', if you've pulled my brother away from his newborn girl just to get on my good side."

 _'Newborn girl?'_

When Johnson shot him a questioning look, he had to shrug his shoulders. This was the first time he had heard of Carter being a new auntie. Not once had she even hinted at wanting to leave to go see a new niece. Didn't women usually jump at the chance to coo over new squalling wriggling pink poop-factories?

While he was reminding himself that this was Carter, and her and 'usual' were not on speaking terms, Mr. Jay was finally getting down to business.

"We need your help. We've lately had far too many deaths of good agents – mysterious deaths or killed in action deaths – that strategically benefit our enemy to be of coincidence."

"You think there is a mole."

"Yes, and we need someone of your skill set, who can be objective but is familiar with the area and the players, to analyze all of our interactions with Red Skull's splinter groups, like Leviathan and Zodiac."

"Aside from that being a very daunting task that will take me away from my duties, what's the catch?"

This time it was her brother who answered. With a quiet but longsuffering sigh, he stated, "There is too much data to be consolidated in a briefcase and strapped to somebody's arm, and it is too dangerous to ship all that classified information across the pond, so you'll need to go back with us."

"Too sweeten the pot, you'll be able to peruse the original training room records for that Red-lass agent program that one of our late agents was able to obtain before their untimely demise," the operations manager wheedled.

And quite effectively. No matter what hang-ups Carter had about being at home, she knew that seeing the records of Dottie's origins would help them immensely in understanding her and tracking her.

But with Carter's poker-face it was hard to read this, especially when she fixed her brother with her hard stare and challenged, "What's my cover story going to be with Mother?"

"Cover story?" Benjamin Carter asked in startled bewilderment. A fact which he found puzzling in and of itself, for if he was Peggy's older brother, shouldn't he know that his sister would consider the logistics and secrecy of her mission first and foremost?

"Yes, cover story," she snapped in irritation, and then she began to explain slowly as if to a child (or to a clueless older brother, he supposed), "I am going to be disappearing for hours to do analysis work. She is going to want to know why I am not available for a visit with cousin so-and-so while they gush over my 'cute as a button' niece or to have tea with Mrs. Who's-it that knows that _nice young man_ …"

She arched her expressive eyebrows challengingly yet again, but when her brother stood there and said nothing, she spun on her heels and left the room.

Without so much as a by-your-leave. From either of the two superior officers in the room.

His low whistle of amazement at the balls she had to throw such an uncharacteristic temper tantrum was cut off by the questioning stare of all three men (as if he was that woman's keeper – _ha_ ) and Johnson's jerking of his head at him to follow after her.

He did so, but wondered how much hot water he would get into if he delayed a few moments before approaching the _might tetchy_ female agent.

He liked his head attached to his shoulders after all.

~A~

"Tea?"

After Daniel had tipped him off that she had used the elevator and it had gone up, he decided to intrude upon her roof-top brooding by bringing a peace offering.

"Despite what you Americans think, we Brits don't find tea to be a cure-all," she quipped even as she practically snatched the offered mug from his hands.

He snorted his disbelief as he watched some of the tension drain from her features after only a tiny sip from the tonic beverage. "You could have fooled me."

Instead of defending herself against cultural stereotypes, she took a few more restorative sips and then dove right into the heart of the issue, saying, "I did want to go home to see my niece…to see her wrap my brother and father around her wee little fingers within moments of her entering the world. It's just that – that there were – _are_ so many things…"

Carter at a loss for words was supposed to be a much more rewarding experience than it was, but he couldn't find it in himself to gloat. Instead, he found himself trying to channel his inner Gam-Gam, and prodded gently, "'Things' such as…?"

For the first time since this touchy-feely conversation started, she took her eyes off the skyline to nervously glance at him and admitted, "You were in coma. I was tracking down that last Zodiac agent and then futilely hunting for Dottie _again_ , and then you were recuperating."

"Oh no, you're not putting this on me," he cried bullshit. "Those are excuses, Carter. I'm not even on crutches anymore. What's your real reason?"

It was evidence in how far along they had come as partners (and not a testament to his interrogation skills), that within moments of this challenge Carter caved.

With a sigh, she confessed, "My parents don't know I am agent. It's easier to lie to them, especially my mom when there is a whole ocean between us."

That threw him for a loop. He couldn't imagine keeping that big of a secret from his family. No, they might not know how dangerous his job was, or at least hadn't until he had gotten shot, but they had known the basic job description. She however had been keeping them completely in the dark _for years._

"What did she think you were doing in the war?"

Peggy let out an unamused chuckle, before explaining, "The irony is that she thought I was a nurse."

 _'Tonight's thrilling tale takes us deep into the heart of the Ardennes Forest, where Hitler's Nazi guard has … taken Betty Carver, the battalion's beautiful triage nurse as their hostage.'_

As the radio show's ridiculous words rang through his mind, Jack could only laugh in sympathy along with her. It was ironic, but not really funny under the circumstances.

Shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels, he dug down deep for what little empathy he had and admitted, "I don't know what you're going through. I can't, as it is socially acceptable for me as a male to be a federal agent."

He ignored her grunt that could only be interpreted as 'no shit, Sherlock', and continued, "But that does not mean I don't understand how difficult it is with family. My nearly 80-year-old grandmother and her best friend have decided that now is the perfect time to come out to see the Big Apple."

"This sudden urge was brought on by your near death experience, wasn't it?" Carter said knowingly.

"Yeah, remind me to change my father as my emergency contact. He can't keep a secret from them to save his life." He sighed sheepishly. He had named his father as his emergency contact, as he was the one who would less likely make a fuss about anything and could handle any medical business stuff that might overwhelm his mother or elderly grandmother. That, and it would force his father to take notice of him. But that was an issue for another day.

His sheepish sigh of exasperation quickly became an unbecoming whine as he added petulantly, "And now they are not only going to want me to play tourist guide, but they also are going to be mother-henning me, which I love that they do – don't get me wrong – but it's much easier to take when they are a whole country away."

As he could hear his petty complaint somewhat echo her own words, an idea occurred to him that he blurted without censuring:

"Maybe we should be each other's support buddies?"

This startled a laugh from Peggy, and in between chuckles, she clarified, "You mean while I'm dealing with my family and you deal with yours we check-in on each other via pricey long distance phone calls?"

He shrugged and smirked with his best boyish grin, "It would be worth it just to make sure I haven't torn my pretty blond locks out or shoved my favoritest people in all the world off a ferry."

Although he was being facetious, he found himself holding his breath as he anxiously awaited her answer. He _really_ wanted her to say 'yes.'

She, of course, didn't.

At least not simply yes. No, instead, she rolled her eyes and huffed with suppressed amusement, as she dragged out her response:

"Oh in _that_ case…sure, why not?"


	19. Family, That Could Be

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** In honor of the holidays, my gift to you...

* * *

 **Family, That Could Be**

* * *

That first phone conversation had started out absurdly awkward.

She and Jack just did not do small talk, unless he forced it out of her while in closed confined spaces on stake-out.

He had asked about her niece, and she had told him begrudgingly that she was an adorable roly-poly thing that was making them all go soft in the head.

His response had been slow in coming, almost as if he had to work at being his normal bastard self, and he didn't quite manage to hide his anxiety when he snarked, "You're not getting baby-fever are you, Carter?"

She snorted, "No, but my mom is having grand-baby fever, and my dad is wondering when I am going to give up on my adventure and come home."

"I thought your dad was the American in your parental pair," Jack had noted in confusion, understandably so in her opinion.

"He is, but home is where the heart is," she attempted to explain. "And my father found his here in his adopted country and he can't seem to believe that I will ever find it there in his own mother country."

Before he could ask any further questions, because that was a whole story too lengthy for a costly long-distance call, she changed the subject by asking, "So how is playing tour guide?"

Jack's dramatic groan was a good indicator that she was going to get her money's worth. And she did, for she was regaled with a highly entertaining tale of the elderly grand-mamas' culture shock to 'loud', 'rude', and 'brash' New York City.

"At the end of the day, did they ask you to transfer back to San Francisco?"

"No, they didn't," Jack replied, and the way he did so, after clearing his throat kind of abashedly, let her know that he was blushing a charming shade of pink.

"No?" she prompted casually, trying to keep her delighted glee (and twinge of jealousy) from leaking out.

Whether she managed that or not, she didn't know, but he mercifully satisfied her avid curiosity with a sheepish if reluctantly amused sigh, "No, they were of the opinion that I am right where I need to be to find a 'good strong woman to keep me in line', quote unquote."

There were so many responses to this that she was grateful she was saved from having to pick one by their tenuous connection going dead. According to the inn's manager, the late summer storms were making all calls 'a bit spotty.'

~A~

When she explained this to Jack on their next call, he asked curiously, "So you're abandoning the comfort of your own home almost every night at nearly midnight to call me from an inn in town?"

"Yes," she grumbled. The reason she had to 'abandon' her home comforts so late in the evening was so that he could enjoy the comforts of his own home once he got off work or finished playing host to Gam-Gam and Nana Maria, who lucky for him were staying at a hotel. "My mother has no qualms about eavesdropping on conversations, and she would make _assumptions_ about our relationship."

Assumptions that she would be fine letting her have if it would mean she would quit trying to play matchmaker, but as good of an agent as she was, not even she could withstand The Inquisition that this would invite about Thompson and their fictional relationship. More importantly, she wanted her mother to stop because she trusted her to know what would bring her happiness and fulfillment, even if that was not a husband and children as of right now, or only those later on.

"Where does she think you go at this late of an hour?"

"Out with friends at the local pub," she answered. Which she was, with friends at least. Well, _a_ friend. One of her old school chums happened to be married to the inn's late night manager, and so she was given free rein of his office after they had a round of drinks. A favor she abused in the extremes, by curling up on his sofa by the fire with the phone base in her lap and the handset cradled close to her ear, while she treated herself to a shot or two of bourbon or whiskey.

And because she did not want him to think that he and their 'support buddy' relationship was the only reason she was going to extremes, she added, "I also don't want her to hear anything that she shouldn't" (i.e. classified information.)

Because Jack knew this was not a secure line, he had never asked anything about her mission other than a vague 'how's business?'. To which, she had been consistently replying with some variation of 'slowly' and 'not well.'

Even now, he didn't ask for any work-related details, but instead remained focused on her family, as he inquired, "So what _is_ the cover story for your daytime disappearances? Did your brother ever manage to concoct one?"

"No, he did not," she grumbled again. "The only reason he ever managed to get away with half of what he did growing up was because I was there to cover for him. Providing me with ample amount of blackmail material let me tell you."

His deep appreciative chuckle sent such shivers down her spine that she knew that Angie would be in a right state of triumphant giggles if she had been there to witness her reaction. Thinking of Angie pulled her from memory lane and reminded her of Jack's original question.

"I came semi-clean with my parents and told them the story I gave Angie," she admitted.

"Which was what again?"

"That I am a cryptographer and here on business."

"How did they react?"

"My father was quietly pleased actually. He always thought I was wasting my potential as a secretary at a telephone company," she softly confessed. His quiet support had buoyed her against her mother's reaction.

Not that her mom had not also been proud of her doing her patriotic duty. But now that the war was over, she was of the opinion like so many others, that it was time for her to return to the life she had been destined for before the Great Evil had been unleashed upon the world.

Jack sensed this, she could tell by his gentle prompting: "And your mother?"

She snorted lightly, "She reminded me of Mrs. Fry when she interviewed me for my boarding at the Griffith. She asked me 'how long I was going to do that', you know work for the telephone company."

"Did you give her the same answer?" This time there was less gentleness and more dry amusement in his query. The one time he had met her friend (aside from when she cried all over his shoulder), Miss Martinelli had regaled him with her (if she did say so herself) clever handling of the woman, concluding _'If Peggy here can bamboozle that old battle-axe, you blokes in the office never stood a chance.'_

"I told her that I would still do it even when I am married and maybe even when I have kids," she admitted somewhat defiantly, daring Jack to sneer at such an unconventional dream.

She had forgotten that this wasn't the Jack of a year ago. This was the Jack who was her partner, even outside of the office.

So instead of sneering, he told her simply, "Good. I couldn't imagine you doing any differently."

Perhaps it was the midnight hour, the bourbon she had been nursing, or the fact that he was a whole ocean away, but she somehow managed to muster up the courage to ask, albeit with a hesitant clearing of her throat, "You don't think I'd be setting myself up for failure, juggling a career and family?"

"Peggy, the only way you of all people would fail at that is if you didn't have a bloke who was 100% behind you and you didn't accept his help when he offered. If there is anything that I have learned to expect about you, is that you defy expectations."

After a speech like that, what was a self-respecting girl supposed to say?

She couldn't cope with anymore soul-baring, so she made a jest of it and chuckled lightly, "I can understand why they call you the charmed devil. You do have a way with words, Jack."

Because he was an astute observer, he picked up on her change of mood and sniffed with dramatic conceit, "Yeah, I do," before quipping boyishly, "I suppose, I would lose brownie points if I were to tell you about the time I sweet-talked the local Methodist's preacher and his wife into letting me take their daughter to the school dance _and_ to extend her curfew?"

She attempted to sound disapproving. She truly did. But her badly muffled chuckles of amusement ruined the effect, as she brokenly rebuked, "You are a – semi-conceited, incor- incorrigible arse, Jack Thompson."

"Only semi-conceited? You wound me, Margaret Carter."

On that note, she hastily bid her adieus, before she encouraged his incorrigibility any further.

~A~

She had been in England for a little over a week, had made very little progress, and it had been a no-good, terrible day - which is why she had completely forgotten that Jack had told her that his grandmother and his grand-godmother would be over for dinner at his place that evening.

"Jack, if I have to see one more blacked out report and hear one more 'you don't need to know', I'm going to – "

"Uh, Marge, now is not a good time," he cut in, uncomfortably, (and probably fortuitously as it would not be very good for her career or long-term health if she were to threaten violence towards any British government agent or office).

Before she could ask why her timing was so poor, she could hear in the background a thin, croaky voice asking, _'Marge? As in 'your Marge'? Give me that phone, Jackie my boy.'_

There was some muffled protesting at the other end of the line, before it went silent, but as there was no click from a disconnect, she waited.

And was rewarded with the wheezy yet strong female voice greeting her with, "Hello, dear. You must be Miss Carter."

"Hello, Mrs. Thompson. Most people call me Peggy," she greeted her warmly. From all of Jack's stories of this woman, she would be honored if this woman did, but while they were on the subject of names, she couldn't help but ask, "What did you mean by 'his Marge'?"

"Oh, he talks about his Girl Friday all the time," the woman replied either in an attempt to reassure or to purposefully get her grandson in hot water. Most likely the latter, as she gleefully admonished him in an aside, "Stop your groaning, boy. You brought it on yourself you did."

And then to her, she said, "Please, call me Gam-Gam. Most people have since Jack started talking and couldn't say Grand-mère."

Peggy had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing uproariously in Mad Hatter delight at all of this, especially when she heard a more huskier, Spanish-accented voice admonishing in the background, _'Do stop embarrassing the boy. Can't you see he's turning as red as a tomato? He'll have a stroke, and at such a young age.'_

"Oh, alright," harrumphed Grand-mère Thompson, before stating in a much more no-nonsense voice, "Peggy dear, do please wrap up whatever business you have out there and come home. My Jack needs to be knocked down a peg or two - no pun intended - as he tends to get a big ambitious head and then he can't see the victims for the politics…"

Unfortunately, for the sake of hearing why Jack's grandmother thought he needed to be humbled, Peggy lost track of the conversation as the words "can't see the victims for the politics" rang through her head.

Fortunately, for the purpose of discovering the 'mole', it sent her mind spinning and she was able to realize that the deaths of the British agents were not the result of being victims of espionage warfare but rather of being victims of a far more personal vendetta and their political enemies being used as convenient scapegoats.

When she came to, Gam-Gam was talking about how _'…across from every good man sits a woman feeding him humble pie or so my own grandmother told me...'_ and Nana Maria was admonishing _'No, that was my Tia who said that. And quit your yammering and let the young ones finish their conversation. Phone calls are expensive, sí?'_

"Sorry about that," Jack apologized as soon as he got the telephone back.

"No worries, Jack," she hastily cut in, "They were a delight, but I have to go."

There must have been something in her tone of voice, because he asked in wonder, "You figured it out, didn't you?"

"Yes, thanks to your Gam-Gam," she said in all honesty.

That startled him and there was a moment of silence before he stated simply, "Good. Go get 'em, Marge. I'll hold down the fort here."

She rang off, but instead of racing back to the cramped storage room that was her 'office', she stared at the phone and wondered if this is how it could work in the future – long distance calls to the home front, but instead of visiting grandmas piping in, it would be kids.

Oh how her mother would be horrified at the alteration of the natural order of things.

At that thought, a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Jack's said, _'But since when have you ever done anything the conventional way? Why change things now, Marge?'_

Why indeed…

And for the first time she had hope for her impossible dream.


	20. Opinions

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** Many, many moons ago, some of you asked for Daniel's opinion on Cartson in response to 'Breakfast'. Your request tickled my Muse's fancy, and I thought 'why stop at Daniel?' And so because a few other plot lines needed to be fleshed out first, this was put on the back burner.

But now for your entertainment (I hope), I bring you...Daniel Sousa, Edwin Jarvis, Howard Stark, and Angie Martinelli!

I do apologize in advance for Howard's refusal to keep it clean (Captain America isn't around at this time to reprimand him)

* * *

 **Opinions**

* * *

 _Daniel:_

A year ago, it was me and Peggy against the world of male superiority. She was belittled for being female, and I for not being a 'whole' male – and by none more so than the office Deputy Jack-ass.

But then all that changed.

Dooley died, but we saved the day, and only because of Peggy. Jack got promoted (undeservedly in my opinion at the time, as he took credit for Peggy's actions), and I thought his reign of terror would increase ten-fold without the Chief to keep him in check.

But it didn't.

Either Dooley's death or the weight of the responsibility of Chief changed Jack, because he treated Peggy different. He treated me different. He treated her not only like an agent, but as his Deputy Agent, even though he gave me the job (after Ramirez turned it down).

Then it was us three against the impossibility of filling Dooley's large shoes. (All I gotta say is that it is no wonder the man's marriage was falling apart.)

As for me and Peggy, I admit that I was infatuated with her, and some part of me always will be. She is that kind of woman.

But when she was telling me that day at the café about her worries of juggling a family and her career, I knew there was sadly no future for us. And not to sound cliché, but it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.

As she was talking, everything inside me was rebelling at the idea of my possible future wife and possible mother of my future children putting herself in danger. I knew that if we were to pursue a relationship that eventually led to marriage, I would struggle with the overwhelming urge to protect what was mine and it would never sit well with me. In that moment, I realized that I was just as much of a male chauvinist as Jack was.

To be fair to me, I also realized that what I wanted in life was to have a home where it was an oasis from the dark and dreary world of intelligence and espionage, and to have a spouse like Carter, who would take it home with her, such a dream would never be possible.

To be fair to Jack, he wasn't as much of a male chauvinist as he once was, at least in regards to Peggy.

He publicly nipped Matthews' harassment of her, encouraged her do interrogations and lead missions, interfered with Johnson's patronizing treatment, and he partnered with her without complaint. He even went so far as to let it be known that she 'hands him his ass a few times' when they spar in Cliff's training lessons (but only after she had done so to a few others as well).

And he somehow manages to keep his cool when she is in danger. A feat that I don't think I could have managed if we had become as close as they seem to be.

There is a popular theory in the office (Fisher's) that the reason Jack had been such a boob towards her was so that he could have walls against her, and now that he doesn't have that, it is only a matter of time before he falls headlong and makes a complete and utter fool of himself for her.

Ramirez even has an office pool going as to when they will kiss. My money is about a year from now. My reasoning is that Carter is stubborn and Jack values his balls too much to risk trying something too soon and have her crush and feed them to him through a tube. I am told that I might want to reevaluate that assessment, considering how berserk Carter went when Jack got shot.

And Wallace may be right. Peggy hadn't gotten hysterical, but she had gone dark avenging angel-like. And ever since then, she has been… _softer_ towards him, especially since she came back from London. There is even a hint of – dare I say it? – _affection_ that leaks out when they exchange their usual witty repartee, which has become more tease and less barb.

It's almost enough to turn one's stomach, especially if it's your former office nemesis possibly getting the girl that you once carried a torch for.

I complain now, but if these two kids make it, I hope to be the best man at their wedding.

Talk about avenging speeches.

~A~

 _Jarvis:_

My Anna has taken a shine to Miss Carter, which is a great relief, let me tell you, as it would have made my life more than a bit a difficult to have the woman I love at odds with the woman I admire and Mr. Stark values. Yes, 'more than a bit difficult' is most definitely an understatement.

But that is neither here nor there, as my Anna likes her, adores her even.

My wife has never told me how to do my job. She trusts that I know best how to handle Mr. Stark. Occasionally, I will go to her to ask for advice when I am in a moral quandary about how to deal with one of his latest escapades, but for the most part I shield her from it and she lets me.

Not so with Margaret Carter.

She insists that we check on the two girls' larder at least once a week.

 _"That girl may be highly capable and independent, but she has no common sense when it comes to a good meal. I mean, her favorite place to eat, you tell me, is the Automat? Bah! But what can one expect from someone who was raised in boarding schools and then spent most of her adult life on Army rations, hmm? No, you go over there and give those girls what I just collected from the garden. We have a surplus that will go bad, as Master Stark is hardly ever home these days. No, wait. Take me with you. I have a few questions for the young misses and you are too intimidated by either of them to ask."_

And so we go, and the ladies gossip; and that is how I know more about the inner-workings of both the SSR and the stage and the personal lives of their respective members than either party would ever want me to be. My wife is that good at pulling information out of others, not even professional and guarded Agent Peggy Carter is immune to her charms.

And that was how I was able to witness Miss Carter's regard of young Agent Thompson transform from ill-disguised irritation to grudging respect to high esteem to more than a modicum of fondness.

That last bit, I think, took her by surprise. The panic she experienced when he got shot at the Expo was not only at the idea that he might die but also at how much his loss would affect her.

Anna and I could not do much for her during that time, but we did remove what traces of that trauma that we could – disposing her bloody clothes, polishing her watch and shoes to remove any traces of Thompson's blood.

Although I have quietly watched this transformation take place, I have not done so without qualms.

Agent Thompson threatened my Anna with deportation, and I shall never forgive him for that.

He also was the imbecile that did not see Miss Carter's worth when it was staring him right in the face, and when he did start to, I could not help but wonder if he only saw her as a tool to use to advance his career.

But no man can keep up the charade, if it is indeed one, as long as he has. And let us not forget, that I too saw his face when he jumped in front of Mr. Stark.

But if he breaks her heart, they will indeed be able to say 'the butler did it' when it comes to his murder. _If_ they ever find the body.

~A~

 _Stark:_

I do not like the Smug Bastard that is Peg's partner, not one little bit.

He is a typical G-man suit – full of himself, drunk on the power of the badge, and holier-than-thou.

Before I dragged Peg into my mess, he treated her like how I treat all my women. But my 'dollfaces' are chosen just for that – being nothing but dollfaces. If I were to go out with someone of Peggy's caliber, my fancy-free days would be over as I would be at her mercy.

The Smug Bastard treated Peggy Carter – _Steve's girl_ – that way. 'Tosser', 'Wanker', 'Dipshit', and 'Dumb-arsed swigger' are just a few of my other favorite pet names for him.

But now, he sees her for what she is, and I am told, treats her like the Agent she is as well.

He's still not good enough for her. He wasn't good enough to be her boss, and isn't good enough to be her partner. In fact, _she_ should be _his_ boss.

Now admittedly, I am majorly – no, _Captain-_ ly – biased. No one will ever measure up to Steve Rogers.

But couldn't the ever-aloof Carter warm up to someone who came within a mile of Steve's mark? And definitely not the guy who reveled in the act of making me publicly eat crow?

Yes, as I am often reminded by the Jarvises, he did save my life and all, but I think I hate him a little for that too. If he hadn't jumped in front of me, then I would have never had to have seen that look of utter desolation on Peg's face again.

The only reason, I think, that I agreed to give that speech was because I was grateful to him for surviving.

If he hadn't, I think I would have used all my formidable brain power to Frankenstein his ass, just so that I could kill him all over again.

Yeah, have I mentioned that I dislike Agent Jack Thompson to the point of unadulterated loathing? Yeah, well, I kinda do.

~A~

 _Angie:_

I'm not stupid you know.

I know Peggy is more than a cryptographer for the SSR. I know she's a bona-fide Agent, with a capital 'A', and that she's darn well the best and is showing those fatheads what's what.

I don't let on that I know though, (and the fact that my bestie who is a secret agent hasn't cottoned on to that yet, really goes to show how good of an actress I am, don't you think?).

I don't let on, because I know she feels guilty for lying to me and she'll only feel worse if she knows I know, you know? Also, and here's the biggie, I know she's doing it to protect me, and despite it being sweetly if frustratingly noble – as I have _so_ many questions – it does make sense. I mean, not even that two-faced Dottie thought, (or has thought for that matter), to pump the ditzy wannabe starlet roommate for information.

And Dottie? Who woulda thunk that wide-eyed Midwestern doll would have been the Wicked Bitch of the East?

But I digress.

The only one who has thought to question me is Anna Jarvis – and I gotta say _Thank God!_ I mean, I am a fountain of bubbling knowledge and observations and questions and it is just so difficult to keep mum about it all, especially when it comes to the secret life of Peggy Carter, who is so buttoned up that everything seems to be a 'matter of national security'.

I at first thought she had been seeing Eddie on the sly, when she was going off to meet him at odd hours and never introducing us. In my world, that means she's having an affair with a married man. And I am so glad for Anna's sake that I was _way_ off base.

And then I thought that since she had gotten arrested and nearly charged with treason for helping out Howard- _dishy_ -Stark, she had a thing for him. That impression was helped along by the fact he gave her free rein of one of his residences for the equivalent of our rent at the Griffith.

But after seeing her interact with Stark a few times, my hopes were dashed. She treats him more like a kid brother than anything else. When he hit on me (right in front of her face!), all she did was roll her eyes. Now, some might say that could just be a sign that she is supremely confident of her hold on him, but I know English. She would never be in a non-exclusive relationship, and Howard Stark's balls would have been so busted if there was anything non-platonic between them.

So I thought about setting Peggy up with one or two guys I know. It was really difficult to decide on which ones. English is really picky, not that she shouldn't have high standards, but a girl should have fun every now and then, and be treated like she's someone's queen, if only for a night.

Before I could decide or figure out a way to set it up, she came to a matinee of my show with Tall-Dark-And-Handsome who had been so hot under the collar to arrest her. It was a good first step, and so I backed off on my matchmaking ways and waited to see how it all would unfold. I knew I had to be patient with English, because with someone as guarded as she is, slow is the only way she goes with matters of the heart.

It took weeks of observation and much speculation between Anna, Eddie, and I to figure out that the spark between she and Mr. Keen-to-Slap-on-the-Cuffs had fizzled out.

But during that time, it couldn't help but be noted that she was making more and more oh-so-casual references to her 'handler' Jack Thompson. ('Handler' was the word she used to explain why she, a 'cryptographer', was working so closely with a SSR agent. Every time she used it, I practically had to bite my tongue in half not to ask what it was that he _exactly_ 'handled'.)

I was able to wheedle out that her 'handler' was Blondie whom I had cried over. When I discovered that, I had blurted gleefully with waggling eyebrows and all, "Oh, _him_! If it's Mr. I-can't-deal-with-tears, then who is 'handling' whom, yeah?"

All I had gotten out of her was an arched eyebrow, a smirk, _and_ – wait for it – a faint flush of pink that peaked out beyond her starched white collar. But that was enough for me.

She didn't bring him to see my play like she did the other one, but I did find out from him the next time I saw him that he had gone himself to see me 'legitimately in action and not while skillfully covering for a fugitive.'

That conversation had occurred when I had gone with Peggy to visit him while he was in the hospital. Her familiarity with where his room was and the nurses' attitude of wariness as she swept through the halls was sufficient evidence that English had been here many a time.

What fascinated me more than the nurses' reaction to English, was how the two of them interacted. Being an actress I am an astute observer of body language, and theirs was telling.

They constantly snuck glances at each other when the other wasn't looking. His eyes tracked her every move, but he didn't ogle her and he looked her in the eyes when she spoke and not at her considerable assets. What was also a point of interest is that he did not check out _my_ assets except for the initial cursory look that could be chalked up to just a habit of being male and a G-man.

He was patient with her when she fussed over him, even though it irritated him, because he seemed to sense that she was _fragile_ , (if that word can ever be used to describe English), when it came to his near death experience.

That more than anything let me know that Peggy was in good hands, because if he could read her that well _and_ act accordingly, then he might just be smart enough not to screw whatever they have up.

That, and any guy who loves his grandma to the point of still unabashedly calling her 'Gam-Gam' in such reverent tones to a complete stranger was a keeper in my books.

Now, where exactly he stands in her books is the question, but I find it highly encouraging that more nights than not she called _him_ (long-distance), and not me, her bestie, to commiserate over family drama.

To use an Eddie-ism, it is highly encouraging _indeed_.


	21. The Christmas Curse (1-4)

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** Normally, I do not like to have my one-shots or any of my chapters this long, but as this is a 'Curse', there is much 'suffering' to be endured. But even so, I have broken it down into hopefully more bite-sized pieces, and will be posting each segment as fast as I can get them edited.

Anywho, enjoy!

* * *

 **The Christmas Curse**

* * *

 **~1~**

 _On the First day of The Curse, our chief gave to Jack_

 _A green rookie…_

"Thompson, my office!"

Jack made a face, much like a 12 year-old boy caught passing notes in class by the principal, but still he promptly abandoned his perch on the edge of her desk and did as ordered.

Peggy would have heaved a sigh of relief – one, for the brief reprieve from Jack's persistent questions as to what was on her Christmas wish list or whether or not she thought she deserved to be on Santa's naughty list, and two, it was his name and not hers that Johnson was calling – _but_ , it was only a brief reprieve. Jack would be back again, and more importantly, just because it wasn't her in there, didn't mean she wouldn't be damned by association.

Her partner kindly remembered that from her desk she could still hear at least every third word and left the office door slightly ajar.

 _"Thompson, this is – "_ Johnson gestured towards the young man also in the office. As he was nothing but a silhouette from her vantage point, all she could tell was that he was shorter than Jack but not quite as short as their resident Napolean.

Jack shook the mystery man's hand, _"Nice – meet you."_

Mystery man mumbled something in response, before Johnson interrupted with, _"Dep-ty –gent, you're – train – since you – bang – job with get- Ms. Carter up to – "_

 _"Agent."_

Jack's sharp tone cut through the bullpen hubbub just loud enough to cause everyone to hush, and for everyone to notice the sudden quiet in the big boss's inner-sanctum.

 _"Agent Carter,_ _ **sir**_ _."_

 _"Yes, that is what I said,"_ was Johnson's coolly dismissive reply even as he began to rustle through his own stack of papers. _"Now, get out – don't teach -ris here bad habits."_

As soon as Jack and his new shadow reached her desk, she quipped, "Keep that up, Jack, and I am going to have to reconsider that lump of coal I got you."

"Don't write me off your Naughty list just yet, Carter," he leered, before retorting impishly, "You'll notice that I didn't deny that I was owed credit for your mad agent skills."

She resisted the urge to flick her pen at the pig-tail pulling _boy_ , and instead introduced herself to the youthful-looking shadow, "Hello, I'm Agent Peggy Carter, and you are?"

"I'm Ira Norris," he replied with an eager handshake. "The new guy."

Although she was pleased to see that he did not raise any eyebrows at her, a female, being an agent, she was disconcerted by her first impression.

He had curly ginger-colored hair, dimples, and blue eyes that were not haunted by bloody-trenches past. He seemed to have all of Daniel's sweet ingenuousness and none of his or any of the other present agents' shark-like killer instinct. He was indeed a rookie, which raised all kinds of alarm bells, including the war-veteran instinct to get as far and as fast as she could away from the 'cannon-fodder' before she was eaten up too.

Despite all that, she smiled warmly and greeted, "Welcome to the team."

Oh, how she would regret that.

 **~2~**

 _On the Second day of The Curse, Misfortune sent to us_

 _Two Gypsies' "Blessings"_

 _Thanks to the rookie…_

The new guy was certainly eager to learn on the job and to prove his worth. Right now he was charging full-throttle after the possible witness to a Zodiac operation through the heart of Little Hungary, while Jack paused in his own dash to circle around the back to give her a boost to the alley's fire escape so that she could take the high road.

If she knew then, what she would know later, she would have sent Jack to rein him back.

But alas, she did not, and the young probationary agent was unable to halt his own progress when the fleeing witness slammed shut the little herb shop door behind him.

So Ira Norris plowed straight through the stained-glass window of the French door shattering it to glittering pieces and earning the wrath of the two Romani widows who ran the shop.

Even from her position atop the roof, she could hear the insults and objects being thrown at him. His earnest apologies did not earn him pardon however, necessitating that Jack abandon his attempt to cut off their quarry's exit to go in and rescue the lad.

The hysterics of the women were drawing such a crowd that she made the judgment call to quit their pursuit and provide back up, just in case the ever-growing and highly entertained audience became a lynch-mob.

From their perspective it was probably diverting indeed to see two elderly women chase three Feds down the street to their car, but from Peggy's perspective it was less than amusing, especially when the last thing she heard (in what little Romani she knew) before Jack peeled out of the district was their shrill voices shrieking:

 _"May your Magis confound you…!"_

 _"…your admirers hound you…!"_

 _"… your ghosts never cease to haunt you…!"_

 _"…and your enemies needle you with a thousand pricks of pain…!"_

 _"May your quarries ceaselessly evade you…_

 _"…and your allies tax you with dues … until you beg for the Final Mercy!"_

 _"Or pay thy Great Debt!"_

Much later (after suffering no small amount of ridicule for being bested by 'little bitty broom-wielding harridans' back at the office), Jack observed:

"You've been awful quiet, Carter. Not too upset about losing our speedy spectator are you? I highly doubt we could have persuaded him to be a cooperative witness even if we had caught him. They're none too authority-friendly in that 'burb anyways."

"No, I'm trying to remember all of Dino Manelli's counter-jinxes for bad luck," she admitted with a self-deprecating huff of annoyance. This was quite the daunting task as the Howling Commando had a good luck/anti-jinx ritual for just about everything, or in Dugan's words "even for how to take a piss."

That admission drew him up short and caused him to eye her with actual genuine concern. When he saw that she was quite serious, he observed slowly, "As a long-standing member of the Strategic _Scientific_ Reserve, I didn't take you to be a believer in superstition."

"I'm not saying that I am," she snapped, but before this could all escalate into one of their more heated spats, she continued more thoughtfully, "I am just…I saw a lot in the war. The kinds of things that just make me more _open_ to the idea that there could be other forces in the world."

"You sound like my Nana Maria," he scoffed lightly.

"A wise woman," she sharply retorted.

"Yeah," was his only reply, as he got up to go file his final report for the day.

There was something in his tone of voice that made her suspect he thought the word 'woman' had more bearing on their conversation than the word 'wise'. It made her want to throw the procedural manual that Norris was pretending to read at him (Jack, the sexist pig, that is, although if it were to hit the rookie, she would be okay with that too.)

From the peanut gallery that was Sousa came the dry observation, "And here I thought our deputy was finally becoming a 20th Century man."

Peggy snorted in amusement, and because she was more than a little bit annoyed, she only half-heartedly defended her partner with, "Well, he didn't give me the lunch run when I was late on Election Day, so…"

"Lunch run?" inquired Norris.

"Yeah, lunch run. If you want to avoid ever having to remember a dozen or two different deli orders, arrive fifteen minutes early always and to everything," Daniel advised sagely.

Peggy got up to file her own report and left Norris in Daniel's capable hands so that she could clock out early. She just knew that tomorrow was going to be a long-ass day.

 **~3~**

 _On the Third day of The Curse, my partner shirked to me_

 _Three Lab-rats,_

 _Their conspiracy,_

 _And the rookie…_

It was too bad she didn't take Daniel's advice this morning.

If she had, she might have been able to be the one who did the delegating, rather than the one being delegated _to_.

As it was, the first thing that she saw once the elevator doors opened on their floor was Alex Doobin and his two 'egghead' stooges waiting anxiously to pounce upon her. She knew it was her because all three of their bespectacled pairs of eyes lit with hope upon seeing her.

"We need to talk," greeted Dr. Doobin, and that was the only intelligible thing that she heard for the next fifteen minutes. An hour later was not much better, but at least then she had finally got them to quit talking over each other and to pause to take a breath between sentences. She had also gotten them to move back into their lab, where she was better able to resist the urge to slap off Jack's relieved and unapologetic expression, as she could no longer see it.

The gist of what she did understand was that they had been keeping track of scientists like Howard Stark, their more volatile inventions and key ingredients, especially Arthur Morey's Demagnetizer, which was so strong that it could break apart almost any chemical bond including a water molecule.

"Has Mr. Morey suffered the same ill-fate as Howard in the loss of his property?"

"Oh no – well, not unless you count an _idea_ as property…" rambled the bald-headed gentleman.

"Oh, it's not _him_ that has had things stolen from him," corrected the silver-haired one.

She cut them both off with an impatient look and turned to Doobin, who hastily explained, "Several of our colleagues in private labs and engineers at manufacturing companies have reported thefts of its key ingredients and significant parts that would indicate someone is trying to weaponize Morey's discovery…and the _amount_ of items stolen indicates they have plans to supply an army, or several if they are in the arms-dealing business."

This was rather an alarming report, but she couldn't help but skeptically point out, "If that was the case, why haven't any of the agencies been investigating it? When Howard's stuff got into the wrong hands, you'd be hard-pressed to find an alphabet soup that wasn't nosing about and hurling accusations at him, especially if it gave them a chance to have their name in the print or on the air. Mr. Hoover certainly never missed out."

"Well, Mr. Morey certainly doesn't go about promoting the kind of reputation that Stark does either," half-sniffed, half-mumbled Silver-fox.

Although she mostly agreed with the irritating man, she heartily wished he wouldn't waste her time with his opinions and would just stick to the pertinent facts.

Sensing her rising levels of impatience, Doobin again hastily intervened, "Well, it's not come to official attention yet, as the thefts, most of them anyways, haven't been reported to anyone. We only know about them, because we have cultivated friendships with individuals in the community who are not as tight-lipped about company secrets as their bosses might like."

"Bosses who don't want to lose government contracts if it were known that their security had been breached," Baldy unnecessarily explained.

Finding that their case of concern had merit – now that they finally gotten around to explaining it clearly, Peggy proceeded to interrogate them for every detail of the thefts, names of their contacts, and their suppositions on what kind of equipment and set up the crooks would need to begin their nefarious mass production.

She had more than a low-grade headache by the end of that convoluted and jargon-heavy conversation and an even greater one after pleading her case (more concisely) to Johnson, but it was nearing a full-blown migraine as she began her actual investigation and was met with stonewall after stonewall from the face-saving victims.

Jack and Norris took pity on her and attempted to help her out, when not covering hers and Jack's normal case load. Not that she had an ounce of grace left to convey her gratitude, and the rookie found himself on the wrong end of her sharp tongue more than once. (It was a good thing for Matthews' sake that he was out sick with pneumonia or he would have never survived her wrath).

Jack took pity on the probationary agent, after one of her more impressive snarls, and attempted to teach him how to make tea 'the Brit way'.

After overhearing that conversation and sipping the probie's surprisingly good first attempt, she made an effort to reduce her snarls to mere grumbles. She also began working on forgiving Jack for his foisting the scientists off onto her.

Not that she was going to tell him that.

 **~4~**

 _On the Fourth day of The Curse, Carter sicced on me_

 _Four badge bunnies,_

 _Their lack of bound'ries,_

 _And the rookie…_

The next morning presented the perfect opportunity to wreak her vengeance.

An informant of Daniel's had gone missing. His half of a duplex had been ransacked and a man vaguely fitting his description had been hustled into a black sedan according to the initial beat cop's report. Daniel, understandably, had called in for assistance.

When she arrived at the address that Rose had given her, Daniel, Ramirez, and Palmer were there and had divvied up the rooms in the home to search – all except the front room where four women had been sequestered and studiously avoided.

As soon as she and Daniel were at a discreet distance she inquired quietly, "Who are they?"

"The neighbors and witnesses of the alleged kidnapping, per the beat cop's report," he hissed back.

She scrutinized the potbellied bleary-eyed officer monitoring the 'witnesses', before asking pointedly, "Per _his_ report? Why haven't any of you gotten a statement yet?"

Daniel sighed sheepishly and tinged a pale pink, even as Ramirez paused his search of the kitchen to gleefully supply, "We were warned by the local bobby here that they're badge bunnies."

It took all she had in her not to roll her eyes at Ramirez's antics or snort in amusement, especially when she gave the women a second look.

The oldest was a blond woman who appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, but who dressed like a twenty-something – pale pink, low cut and girlish. The youngest two were younger versions of her, most likely her daughters, but wore bolder, brighter colors and had even shorter hemlines, and they were a little more brazen in their flirtatious eye-batting whenever Ramirez, Daniel, or Palmer glanced in their direction. The fourth looked to be closer to the mother's age, and although she was dark-haired, she had similar enough features that she might have been the girls' aunt. She was the most brazen of all. Her dress was form-fitting, and her hungry gaze never left her three male colleagues. It made Peggy think 'cougar' in more ways than one.

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck and admitted abashedly, "We were kind of hoping you would interview them…"

She was just about to mutter something along lines of 'cowards' when the Interview King himself and his shadow finally decided to roll in.

"Oh no, no. I have a much better idea…" she practically cackled, and before Jack could dominate the room as was his wont, she signaled the beat cop and called out, "This Agent here, _Agent Thompson_ ," (she made sure to enunciate clearly for the benefit of the female audience), "will be taking the ladies' statement."

Jack was no fool and he picked up on her tone of voice, but after assessing the seemingly harmless witnesses, he moved forward with his usual confidence and introduced himself with his most ingratiating smile, "Hello ladies, I am Agent Thompson and this is my colleague, Agent Norris."

And with that smile, the ladies swarmed.

By the end of it all, Jack was somehow seated on the sofa with mother on one side, daughters on the other, and aunt lounging on the back so that she could huskily whisper into his ear.

Peggy made sure Ramirez captured this moment for all eternity (or as long as the photograph print lasts) before proceeding to help Daniel box up his CI's office files. This task gave her ample opportunity to eavesdrop on the conversation as she carted the boxes out of the house to Daniel's waiting car.

 _"An agent? Like a federal agent? Does that mean you have more_ _ **authority**_ _than Officer Rogers here?"_

 _"Do you carry .38 or .357?...I've heard that they are more_ _ **powerful**_ _. That seems just perfect for you."_

 _"Oh, it was sooo scary, seeing him being shoved into that car. He was such a nice man…What is this world coming to? Do you have your office anywhere near here, Agent Thompson? I just know that I would feel a lot_ _ **safer**_ _, if I knew that you were nearby_ _ **serving**_ _and_ _ **protecting**_ _…"_

At one point, the rookie tried to offer her assistance, either out of gentlemanly habit or the need to escape their clutches, but she shooed him off with an "Oh no, Agent Norris, I wouldn't dare dream of depriving you the opportunity of learning from the master interviewer himself, just for little ol' me."

Jack must have overheard her, because he quit trying to edge away from looming Cougar Auntie to shoot her a resentful glare, to which she responded by playing exceedingly dumb.

Eventually, Jack was able to extricate himself by stating that he needed to go examine the garage. Norris hastily asserted that he would need to follow, as it looked as if the younger girls were going to latch onto him next.

As soon as they were out the door and Officer Rogers began to escort them back to their residence, Peggy (vaguely) introduced herself to them, "Hello, I'm assisting Agent Thompson on this case, and I just know that he was most appreciative of all the information that you gave him." Over their modest demurring, she handed them a card with the main SSR office number and said, "If you have any further details that you remember – anything at all – please feel free to call here and ask for him. He would be most grateful."

They were so eager in snatching it out of her hand, that Peggy knew she needed to get back to the office soon, so that she could let Rose know to forward all of their calls directly to Jack's extension.

Rose did. And poor Jack had to endure their ceaseless calls with 'tips' and requests to meet up at cafes (or bars depending on the lady) and had to fend off all of their sexual overtures and advances. This provided several excellent teaching moments for the probie about the dangers of this type of woman for an agent's career and how to best dodge them.

Jack handled both the women and the teaching moments with such professionalism that Peggy started to feel guilty for setting him up to begin with, especially when it looked like he wanted to take his .357 pistol and shoot his phone to smithereens.

When it rang for what seemed like 37th time in just that afternoon, she beat Jack to it and answered, "Hello, this is Margaret…Oh no, I am sorry. Agent Thompson is gone for the day…Yes, yes, I will be sure to tell him you called…Thank you very much. Bye now."

After hanging up, she called Rose and said, "If those ever-so-helpful women call tomorrow, can you please tell them that they have the wrong number or some other excuse?"

 _"Can it be that he is out sick…with something like mono?"_

It took every ounce of moral strength she had not to smirk at the idea of the switchboard ladies passing on the rumor that Jack had the kissing disease, but she managed it and merely said, "Yes, that will do."

She blamed her pettiness on The Curse. (And yes, that would help her sleep tonight.)

After she hung up, Jack's shoulders which had been tensing up all day were sagged in relief, and his big blue eyes were wide and piteously begging, as he asked, "Are we even now, Marge?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. Have you learned your lesson?"

She tried to keep her countenance bland, if not stern, (it was getting harder and harder to do so with Jack lately), but she must have failed, because his worried frown transformed into a soft smile.

He nodded in both acknowledgment of the reprimand for yesterday's antics and in silent apology, even as he threw her a mocking salute and exited stage left whistling as he went, leaving her to supervise the rookie's report writing. The bloody bastard.


	22. The Christmas Curse (5-7)

**Moments**

* * *

 **The Christmas Curse**

* * *

 **~5~**

 _On the Fifth day of The Curse, the muckety-mucks gave to us_

 _Five cold cases,_

 _An ultimatum,_

 _And the rookie…_

When she walked into the office that morning, she was greeted with the sight of all her files and notes on the Demagnetizer case being carted away by men in dark suits, men who could only be Hoover's G-men if she was any judge.

When she went to object (quite forcibly), Jack snagged her arm and dragged into the archive room.

"What the hell, Jack?" she hissed indignantly.

"I know, I know," he attempted to assuage. "But Hoover got wind of our investigation and demanded jurisdiction, and Johnson rolled over like the French – the Vichy French, not your Resistance French obviously."

She ignored his babbling and continued to vent her fury, "What the hell was his 'jurisdiction'? We're the Strategic _Scientific_ Reserve, and it was science lab robberies, for Christ's sake!"

"That's what I said," Jack muttered. "But our esteemed boss defended himself with 'Well, it has come to my attention that we here do not have a very good track record when it comes to high profile cases such as this and I didn't really have much of a leg to stand on'."

His near spot-on imitation of their boss's posture of indignation (puffed out chest and high squeaky voice) nearly brought a smile to her face, but the insult to their competency was just too much to get over so easily.

"If he means Dottie – "

"No, he does not mean the Underwood case, although that could be added to his list," he admitted reluctantly.

"List?"

Stepping back just a little and holding himself as if he was preparing to dodge a sudden wrathful blow, Jack informed her, "Yeah, list. The powers-that-be have decreed that we need to 'clean house' before the New Year, specifically our five Unsolved Ones."

He said it with such significance that she knew immediately which ones he was referring to: the Patent Office leak, the Expo Exposures, the Spy-gear Supply Sabotage, the Chamaeleon-Maker, and the Gone-girl Grad Student.

"Bloody hell."

~:~

They spent nearly the whole day in the archive room, combing through those files.

Norris was in there with them. He asked a million questions about the cases, the steps they took, why they talked to this person but not that person, why did they do a full press on that one but not another, why they couldn't get a warrant to search this place and so on and so forth.

"For several months, inventions submitted to the Patent Office have been 'miraculously' also invented by their foreign competitors…No, every employee's alibis checked out…"

"Leading scientists at the Expo have had their most 'unprofessional' moments end up on tabloid front covers for all the world to see, and the source of those private photos has yet to be found…Freedom of the press has been our major roadblock there…"

"A whole shipment of government listening and tracking devices had been tampered with, nearly exposing several undercover agents, and again the perpetrator was never found... We think that shipment was just poorly made and instead of admitting it, they called in a 'sabotage tip' to save face…The CEO is buddies with the Attorney General…"

"Hydra and similar enemies of democracy have had a plastic surgeon remodel discovered spies' faces so that they can be – _recycled_. He is on the run and was nearly within SSR's grasp but slipped through our fingers and has yet to be found…Diplomatic immunity is a bitch sometimes…"

These cold cases were an excellent teaching tool, and it probably did help to look at them fresh through Norris's eyes, but it was damn tedious at times. At one point, Peggy's paranoia began to kick in and she started to suspect that he was not simply a probationary agent but a spy, and this wet behind the ears act was all just a cover.

When he asked one too many questions about the missing Columbian Uni grad student that she and Jack suspected was kidnapped by the Baers or someone like them (she was not at the Lithuanian lair with the other kidnapped youth, and they have not had any luck finding any kind of clue since), Jack sent him out on an extended lunch and errand run.

There were a few moments of blessed silence before Jack broke it with: "You know, one of the cases that haunts me the most was one of my first ones with the Agency."

As Jack hardly ever got personal, she stopped what she was doing and looked at him. He didn't set aside his files, but neither did he appear to be really reading them as he continued thoughtfully.

"We were tipped to a scientist doing illegal experiments on delinquent street kids. Kids that nobody would miss…" His voice trailed off in sadness and regret, even as his hands and the file he was holding began to shake with his building rage. Eventually, he bitterly declared, "That looney boffin was trying to develop a 'pacifying agent'… It worked so well that 8 out of 10 of those kids, and there were roughly six _dozen_ or so, just quit doing anything and looked as if they just sat there and welcomed Death with open arms…"

"The other 20%?" she prompted quietly.

His icy cold gaze met hers, as he bit out, "The other 20% fell into two categories: the victims and the _Monsters_. This G-23 shit worked like Stark's Midnight Oil on them; only worse, it sent them not only into a murdering frenzy but a cannibalism frenzy as well…"

Peggy wanted to close her eyes, to block out those images that his words conjured up, but she did not want to leave him alone in that horror, in what must be a recurring nightmare among the many that torment any soldier on sleepless nights. So she held his gaze, and hoped that he sensed her appreciation for his sharing a piece of his soul with her. For his understanding of what haunted _her_ dreams.

After a few heady moments, Jack looked away, and she thought that would be the end of it, but then in a belligerent mutter, he explained why he was in the SSR and not some other government agency:

"Scientists talk about progress but they don't much seem to care about consequences, even though what evil men can do with their toys will most likely be what they fear the most – send us back the dark ages or worse."

Peggy could not defend them, not even her friend Howard Stark, perhaps especially Howard Stark, so she didn't even try.

Instead, she nudged his shoulder companionably with her own, asserting, "Well, that's what we're here for."

 **~6~**

 _On the Sixth day of The Curse, Bloody-Bad-Luck screwed with us all and sent_

 _Six Bombs-a-booming…_

~i~

The day started with Angie sitting on the edge of her bed and staring at her with her big wide blue eyes that were pleading and welling with threatening to spill over tears.

"G'morning?" she croaked out uncertainly.

"Not really," was gustily sighed. A pretty picture of despondent glumness, she did make.

While Peggy struggled to sit up, Angie launched into her tale of woe, "You know how some people haven't liked our play's pro-independent woman themes? Well, last night some of their adolescent sexist acolytes did a 'demonstration'."

"A 'demonstration'?"

"That's what their big daddy lawyers will call it no doubt, and the judge who believes decent girls oughtn't to be on stage in the first place will agree with him, not caring how their vandalism will cost me a fortune if not one of my biggest opportunities. I mean even if I could afford to do a rush order on a new costume, there is no way it would be ready by the matinee showing tonight," bemoaned in increasing panic, finally concluding with a desperate plea of "Oh, Peggy! I just don't know what to do!"

Peggy grabbed her distraught friend's hand and gave it a squeeze, even as she asked soothingly, "I take it that they ruined your dress somehow?"

"Ruined?! Yes! They _flour-bombed_ it," she exclaimed piteously. "A bunch of us chorus girls were out behind the theater waiting for the diva to exit, and you know, avoid her post-rehearsal dramatics, when these _ruffians_ threw balled up handkerchiefs of flour, egg, and purple dye at us and calling us 'hussies' and other horrible things."

When Peggy examined the dress, she concurred with her poor friend's assessment: it was unquestionably a flour-bomb fatality. There was no salvaging it. Not even Howard could invent something to remove the purple goop stain from the gold glitter.

"Well, you can use my gold dress, if you think you can get it altered to fit you well enough," she offered conciliatorily.

"Oh can I?" Angie gasped. "Lizzie will be able to do it up and jiffy. She works miracles with a needle and thread!"

"You can. I never wear it anymore," she admitted with a soft regretful smile, which Angie did not pick up on as she was gushing with relief, "Oh, you're a life-saver!"

"I won't be if I don't get some caffeine in me soon," she muttered.

~ii~

While Angie dashed about to get some tea brewing, Peggy went out to get the morning paper.

And had to eat dirt.

She was trekking out to the middle of Howard's expansive lawn to retrieve the paper, as the paperboy could never be bothered to reach the porch, when she heard it.

 _Pow! Pow! Pow!_

Instinct kicked in, and she dove for cover, managing to make it behind a large flower pot.

Over her pounding heart and internal cursing for not having even her ankle gun, she could hear rowdy boyish laughter and thundering feet run farther up the street before there was another more distant bang.

When she peaked over the edge of the pot, she saw the sad combusted remains of her mailbox and five others.

She and all of the other neighbors had been cherry-bombed.

~iii~

As soon as she was back in the house, she rang Jarvis to inform him of their need for a new box and to file a police report; not that it would do much good, as her duck-and-cover reflexes had caused her to miss her chance at getting a good I.D. of the hooligans. Perhaps, another neighbor would.

Her news was met with: "Oh dear, is it going around like the flu this season? Is incendiarism catching, do you think?"

"What in the world are you prattling on about?"

"Oh, I just went to move Mr. Stark's Lincoln out of the drive way this morning – I may have to reconsider my rule not to disturb Anne to stowaway his cars when he comes home at whatever ungodly hour he does, if this is what happens," he paused in his explanation to muse.

"When _what_ happens, Mr. Jarvis?"

"Well, a pipe-bomb, Miss Carter," he announced in far more placid tones than she would have expected, so she assumed everyone was alright.

When she said as much, he assured her, "Oh, yes, it was shoddily made, thank goodness. The Lincoln will need some body work, and I shall be sporting some bruised ribs. The only real casualty is Mr. Stark's favorite lawn fountain. Fortunately for those of us who _have_ taste, the bumper destroyed his frolicking nude water nymphs."

Before she rang off, she begged, "Mr. Jarvis, do please pray that this incendiarism is not catching. I have yet to go in to work today."

~iv~

She made it until mail-time.

She nodded in gratitude to the junior agent who had the onerous duty of distributing it, while trying to not lose her patience with her good friend. She was failing miserably.

"No, Howard, I will not be inserting my 'pretty little nose' into your case. The SSR has no jurisdiction just because you're a scientist or my friend. That is not how it works…Well, jolly good for Hoover's lads. But really, Howard, their noses cannot be that bad, especially since they called you a 'national treasure' … Yes, I do see that is quite the tune cha– "

 _Bang-pop!_

Following that explosive sound was a series of curses, high-pitched yelps, and crashes from Johnson's office.

"I am going to have to go, Howard," she declared hastily over his _"What the hell, Peggy?!"_ and then hung up.

But before she or anyone else could rush in to his office, their fearsome leader charged out of his office waving about his red singed hands and looking quite the frightful mess with charred clothes, mussed hair, smoke-smudged cheeks, and no eyebrows.

"Thompson!" he roared. "Nobody goes home until we find out who sent me that goddamn package and nail his ass to the wall! Do you hear me? _No one_."

"Aye, sir."

Apparently, Johnson had been letter-bombed. Wonderful.

~v~

It didn't take long for her and Jack to marshal the troops.

They sent Palmer to dust for prints, had Fisher and Wallace interview Johnson about the package's pre-combusted state and get a list of possible suspects. They had Daniel interview the junior agent who delivered the mail and Ramirez the mail-room staff. Everyone else they either sent out to obtain alibis or fingerprints of possible suspects for cross-reference purposes, if they weren't already in the Bureau of Identification's database.

Several hours and far too many snarky-boss-fits later, they had very little to show for all their hard work.

Johnson had only recalled that it was brown paper parceled and had postage. ( _'I wouldn't have opened an un-postmarked package. I'm not an idiot.'_ ) And Johnson being such a charming chap, of course, had endeared himself to quite a number of people.

They also knew that the package had never actually gone through an actual post-office but the mailman remembers dropping it off. Their best guess was that someone added it to his truck, when he wasn't looking.

Johnson was just winding up to do further damage to his already terrible blood pressure levels, demanding to know what the fingerprint results were, when there was a muffled **KABOOM!**

The whole building shook, stacks of files fell, lights flickered, and they all stood frozen, each wondering if another yet bigger pyro-package had detonated or had New York become besieged from an enemy above.

They were all startled into action by two memo-tubes being kicked up through the pneumatic pipeline from their basement labs.

Jack being the nearest grabbed it and let out a curse when he read the first's contents, but before he could share with the class, Norris was announcing the contents of the second.

"A fingerprint match came back, a Mrs. Donna J– "

Jack tried to stop him, to help their chief (however undeserving) to save face and receive the news in private, by loudly interrupting the rookie with: "You can all relax! Our – "

But Norris just kept running his mouth. "Oh goodness, your ex-wife must _really_ not like you."

" – lab-rats just had too much fun playing with their chemistry set…"

~vi~

After Johnson had gone home and Wallace had some of his local flatfoot buddies pick up the ex-wife and the office order had been restored, Jack had called for a post-shitty day party.

"Really, Thompson?" Daniel had questioned, "What is there to celebrate?"

"We got our guy – yes, Carter, _woman._ No one died, and the combustible-happy eggheads inform me that the building is still structurally sound," he explained with his usual condescension as he happily passed around his stash of whiskey and his box of foul-smelling cigars. "We're still kicking. That's enough."

She was just about to accept the bottle of whiskey from Ramirez, when her eyes alighted on the cigar box package. And the last of her frazzled nerves snapped.

The trajectory of her reach changed with near Captain America speed, and she slapped the just-lit cigar out of her partner's mouth.

"What the f– !"

Jack's protest was cut off with a _Bam!_ and a crackle, as the trash in the wastepaper basket caught on fire from where the exploding cigar had landed.

Into the silence, she asserted acerbically, "I didn't fancy you scarring your pretty face. It's helpful in having suspects underestimate you when we question them."

Over Jack's irritating, "Aww, you do care, Marge, _and_ you think I'm pretty," Norris inquired in amazement, "How did you know?"

"I, unlike some people, use my eyes before smoking Leviathan-gifted Trojan horses," she explained exasperatedly, pointing to the cigar-box wrapping that was stained with a ruby red lip-stick print – Dottie's signature.

And then in a final parting shot, she took a swig straight from the bottle of whiskey, shoved it back into Jack's chest, and announced darkly in her thickest British accent, "Do check the undercarriages and exhaust pipes of any vehicles you get into tonight, boys, because if I have to scrape any of your charred and bloody body parts off our street tomorrow morning… I will be most unamused."

The sound of her heels clacking against the floor and the crackling of the waste-can fire were all that was heard as she made a dramatic and most satisfying exit.

 **~7~**

 _On the Seventh day of The Curse, our disgruntled chief sentenced us_

 _Seven Nights-a-Stalking…_

Either in retaliation for the probie's gaff or out of self-preservation from the taint of their Curse, Johnson greeted him the next morning with:

"Thompson, I have finally got a case that will make use out of that skirt of yours that you call a partner. Take your probationary agent too."

Their mission was a sting operation. The target was an unknown subject that had a safe full of forged passports for sale and a penchant for picking up women at his favorite lodge. How Johnson knew that, but didn't know the name or the looks of the man was beyond Jack.

So for the past six nights, he had Norris as lookout and backup under pretense of being a beggar outside of the lodge, and Carter, much to his disgust, had him enact the role of brooding academic who stews by the fire. Whenever he complained of being a 'preppy tosser', his partner would shoot him _The Look_ or sniff disapprovingly and offer, "It would be fine by me if we traded places, you know."

An offer to which he had dryly retorted, "I am sure it would. But I don't think I am his type."

"I don't think I have found his type yet," was her glum admission.

And she had certainly tried. She had dressed up and become a different woman every night, fully taking advantage of her friend's access to stage props and make-up, all in order to entice the Un-sub (whenever he made an appearance) to choose her.

From his vantage point by the fire, he had seen her play the naïve social butterfly blond, flitting from one group of men to the next and sipping away at some sort of fruity cocktail, to playing the alluring, aloof, and sophisticated redhead, who painted a pretty picture as she coolly passed the time drinking her glass of wine and watching the snow fall outside the window.

He had also seen her attempt to provoke the Un-sub's possible predator instincts by playing a downtrodden Midwesterner, who wasn't finding the City as welcoming or life-changing as she hoped, and when that didn't work, one of the nights she attempted to appeal to the baser instincts of a man who likes to tame wild things, as she played the bold, loud, independent Jersey girl, who challenged some of the lodge's patrons to game of pool and lorded it over them when she won.

Another night, he witnessed her play the prim and proper librarian, and another night, she played the sultry escort. It was after that last one that he quit complaining about his Sousa-like sweater-vests. All those buckles and leather and cinching looked mighty uncomfortable.

But it was all to no avail.

So on the seventh night, when he saw that she was wearing one of her more business-like dresses, he asked curiously, "Who are you going as tonight?"

She had arched an eyebrow at him and had daringly said, "Me. If that doesn't ensnare him, I don't know what will."

He had nothing to say to refute that.

Jack had been truly entertained by the Carter Show these past few nights. She was a marvel to watch, but tonight, it was the Margaret show.

All her walls were down, and it was extremely difficult for him to stay in character as the absentminded intellectual, oblivious of the gorgeous dame who commanded everyone else's notice.

She radiated both the dignity and the intelligence of the librarian, and the independence and confidence of Jersey. But in addition to that aura of self-assurance that seemed so natural to her and that he was so envious of, she carried a touch of the weariness of Midwestern. As she sipped away at her bourbon neat, it was plain to see in the shadows of her dark eyes that she had seen and experienced too much of the world's evil not to be battered by it, but by the firm set of her jaw and squared set of her shoulders, one could tell that she was determined not to let the world or anyone in it drag her down.

He could also tell in the kind way that she interacted with the bartender and a few of the young men that did approach her, that she still held onto the optimism of the butterfly, the hope that the world and its inhabitants are still worth saving and can be saved.

And when the suave businessman who had had several meetings there these past few evenings approached her and ordered for her a top-shelf cognac, it was evident (as if it hadn't been made clear already to him) that she was also the kind of woman who knows how the world works, and how men work and was more than a bit willing to use their weaknesses against them to get what she wants, to get the job done.

Yeah, it was no wonder their Un-sub had waited until tonight to bite, only the best bait for this shark.

After a few drinks and mild rounds of flirting, Carter accepted his invitation to leave with him.

Jack waited a few moments before trailing after them, but they had already gotten into a cab and left by the time he made it to the curb.

He turned to Norris and asked, "Did you tag it?"

He nodded and in between chattering gasps, he added, "I 'tripped' and got it under the back bumper."

"Good," he praised, even as he held out his hand imperiously for the tracking screen.

When he looked at it though, there was no blinking red light for Carter or even the glowing green gridlines of New York's city streets. It was a blank dull black screen.

"Probie," he bit out ominously. "Did you forget the batteries?"

"Oh shit."

~:~

After frantically sprinting to the corner store to buy some Double-A's (and fervently praying that Peggy's Curse had not reached the 'Final Mercy' stage), they managed to turn the damn thing on and track Peggy to the four-star and highly discreet hotel.

It took making quite a lot of threats and the galling need to name-drop Stark before the concierge would tell them which room was the 'gentleman's' that Peggy had accompanied and give them the master key to get it in.

They had raced to Room 712 (well, as much as one can race via hotel elevators), and as a reward for being late to the party, they had been met with the sight of the room's safe already cracked, the various documents spread out across the bed, Peggy reading through some others while sipping away at freshly brewed tea, and the unconscious villain lying passed out on the floor.

With red lipstick staining his mouth.

"Aw, come on, Carter! Isn't this guy deserving of at least a sore jaw?"

She had looked up and flashed him a triumphant smirk, even as she briskly ordered, "Quit being green with envy and help me pack him and this up. The sooner we do that, the sooner we can start our weekend."

Again, he couldn't argue with that, but what exactly he was envious of was debatable.

* * *

 **A/N:** bonus brownie points for anyone who can name the show the G23 peace drug came from : )


	23. The Christmas Curse (8-10)

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** brownie points to CoryAvellana for knowing her _Firefly/Serenity_ trivia : )

Anywho, enjoy!

* * *

 **The Christmas Curse**

* * *

 **~8~**

 _On the Eighth day of The Curse, my 'friend' sent to us_

 _Eight Dames-a-Weeping…_

Peggy's weekend was not the restful respite she hoped it to be.

She had to brave the consumer hordes to do her own Christmas shopping, and when she was just about to draw herself a nice relaxing bath to sooth aching muscles, Angie called.

"I need you."

"You need me?"

"Our dance choreographer was murdered last night. The cops investigating aren't the brightest bulbs of the bunch, and I need you."

She heard her friend's grief and her frustration, and it took all she had not to rush right over. "Oh, Angie, I'm so sorry, but what is that you think _I_ \- ?"

"No, you're right. Code-breaking skills is not really needed," she admitted resignedly, but then she hastened to wistfully add, "But do you think your 'handler' could look into it? And you could tag along for my moral support at least, right?"

"Of course, I can ask J- Thompson. He might have to make a few phone calls to get authorization, but whether or not he can, you can most certainly expect me down there within the hour," she promised.

When she called Jack, he was thankfully at home and in a somewhat helpful mood.

"Yeah, Carter, I'll call Wallace and see if he can use any of his family connections to get us a pass on invading their turf. But this is going to cost you. And not just a bottle of Axel's," he cautioned.

Wallace was indeed able to call in a few favors to allow them access to the case, but that did not mean that they were warmly welcomed when they arrived on scene.

In fact, after Officer Riley gave them the rundown (blunt force trauma to the head just as she exited out the side door approximately between the hours of two and four o'clock in the morning), his partner, Officer Esposito grinned maliciously at them and said, "You wanna interview her chorus girls? Be my guest." And then he kindly escorted them backstage to the changing rooms and closed them in with nearly ten overwrought actresses.

After Jack got over his deer-in-the-headlights look, he shot her with a glare that promised a slow and painful death.

Angie introduced them to her colleagues, but for the life of Peggy, she truly did struggle with their names, especially after doing a round of tearful interviews with them.

She was going to suggest that she and Jack split them to save time, but at Jack's face going pale at the idea of being alone with any one of the distraught women, she decided it would be best to do it together.

It was the best idea she had had so far as not one of them turned off the waterworks as they were questioned, and by the end of it all, Jack could only distinguish them by how they cried; and so they were hence forth and forever to be known to either of them as: Sobber, Bawler, Mewler, Sniffles, Bleater, Keener and Laments, but the most tearful of all was Rita the Red-nosed Blubbery Weeper.

Angie was the exception to this. She was cold and hard and fierce, and after she had answered all of their questions, she stared them down, her blue eyes piercing into their very souls, as she practically demanded, "English, Agent, you _will_ be getting her justice, won't you?"

Peggy mutely nodded, but Jack solemnly asserted, "Yes, ma'am."

They also interviewed the diva and the director, the producer and the stage manager and his crew, and the maestro and his orchestra members, and even the janitorial staff. And then they went about constructing a timeline for the victim and everyone there.

Everyone had the means to kill her, as all were strong enough to swing a pipe or a bat against her skull. Not everyone had the opportunity though, as they were able to alibi each other out at various after-show parties, and most did not seemingly have motive.

The most obvious and the favorite suspect of the detectives was the director, who also happened to be the victim's ex-husband. They were seen arguing by Sniffles before she left. When asked what it was about, the director had shrugged and said, "It was about money, like it always is, but nothing that would send me to that extreme."

His words had a ring of truth to them, as she very well knew from what she could glean from Angie's and Anna's gossiping hour, but his body language indicated that he was hiding something. A fact which caused Jack to want to turn up the heat, and it annoyed him greatly that she did not.

"Yes, I know he is hiding something," she argued exasperatedly. "He's hiding at least the fact that that's not the _only_ thing they argued about." Also, a tidbit that she knew thanks to gossiping hour.

"What else then?"

"The producer. He was known to – " she stopped mid-answer as it finally came to her what had been niggling at the back of her mind about the victim's timeline.

"Carter?" Jack called after her as she took off for the orchestra pit.

When he caught up, she asked, "Red-nosed Rita stated that she was the last one here aside from the victim, and she last saw her in the orchestra pit. Why would a dance choreographer be in the orchestra pit?"

Jack didn't have an answer, and Peggy really didn't know either. But she knew what she would have done, and so she headed straight for the unclaimed violin case, felt around until she could detect the catch for the secret compartment, and revealed a stack of incriminating evidence along with a letter.

The letter was addressed to the rich widow that the producer was known to be courting, detailing the extensive sexual harassments that the young female members of the production had been enduring due to him.

"So it was money they were arguing about, the money that they might lose if they confronted him," Jack mused.

"So her solution was to blackmail him," Peggy summed up sadly.

When they went to go bring the producer in, the man panicked and ran. They chased him, and Jack was able to tackle him to the ground, but received a black eye for his efforts.

Later, when she caught him frowning at his bruised complexion in a mirror, she teased, "Don't worry, Jack. It gives you rather a rakish look."

"It's not my looks that I'm worried about. It's my budget," he retorted. "I have a prime steak in the fridge that is going to go to waste in the hopes of keeping the swelling down, and I'm not sure I can afford my dry cleaning bills after having all those women cry on my shoulder. I might even have to get a new suit."

His voice ended on such a plaintive whine that she had to bite on her tongue to keep from making some crack about him being a 'cry baby'. Instead, she drew upon her inner-graciousness and said, "Thanks, Jack, for your help today. It meant a lot to ... Angie."

"I'd say don't mention it, but I kinda hope you do, _a lot_ ," he drawled. When she rolled her eyes, he added more seriously, "But to be honest, Peg, it was kinda nice to find out that you felt comfortable enough to ask me, and didn't just go it alone, you know?"

"We're partners, Jack," she said simply, a little amazed that it meant that much to him, that he would even _want_ her to ask for his help for personal favors.

But then he had to go and ruin the moment by asserting, "Yeah, just don't get _too_ comfortable, will ya?"

 **~9~**

 _On the Ninth day of The Curse, Wally dumped on us_

 _Nine Warehouse-sortings…_

"Where are Agent Thompson and M- Agent Carter?" Norris inquired as soon as he walked into the bullpen and saw their seats were vacant.

Ramirez grinned at him, jerking his thumb towards the conference room where – surprise, surprise – the Deputy Agent and his partner could be scene to be arguing over boxes of files.

While he was trying to summon the courage to brave the lions' den, Wallace clapped his big beefy hand on his shoulder in what was probably intended as a commiserating gesture, but was ruined by his gloating, "Yeah, your illustrious mentors are suffering the consequences of putting their noses in local business. Congrats."

His 'illustrious' mentors. Hah.

They were what he found to be the most confounding part of his new job, not the least of which Agent Carter, as she was the one who most blew his preconceived notions out of the water.

To be quite honest (and he generally tried to be), having a woman be a member of the inner-sanctum of the SSR and an 'Agent' no less was unexpected – unexpected, but not unbelievable. He knew many a strong woman, women who were more frightening in their capability (including his mother, most of his sisters, and a few nuns in the Catholic schools he attended) than some of his drill sergeants.

Agent Carter had proven to be just such a woman. Case in point –

"Well, Norris, are you going to stand there all day or are you going to join us?" her clipped British accent made her same most impatient, when she was annoyed, and he probably did deserve it as he had been standing in the doorway lost in his reverie.

"No, no, I'm here and present," he hastily and habitually replied as if he had been tardy to class. "What has the archive room regurgitated for us today?"

"Not the archive room," Thompson grunted. "Wallace."

"Wallace?"

"Yes," Carter cut in before Thompson could make whatever comment his sneering lips were prepared to utter. "Wallace. He did us a favor this weekend, and now we are helping him track down weapons that he has good intel on them having been stashed in one of these warehouses." She nodded her head towards their conference table covered with what must be whatever information Wallace and Fisher had amassed on the suspected locations.

"Why these warehouses? And what weapons specifically?"

"All his informant knows is that they are located in this district, but are owned by different businessmen who all have a battalion of lawyers that will block any kind of warrant we try to obtain to search for it without more evidence that they are there," Thompson griped.

"As for the weapons, they are prototypes of 'temperature manipulation'," Carter explained. "One reduces its targets core temp to absolute zero and the other raises it to point of combustion."

At Thompson's grumble of disgust, Carter shot him a look of such understanding that it made Norris uncomfortable. With the side-benefit of breaking up their partners-only telepathic communication, he inquired curiously, "Is there a way to detect the weapons like with the molecular nitramene?"

Carter's brown eyes lit up with interest at the idea, and she quickly examined the specs that Wallace must have provided with his colossal data collection.

After a minute, she declared, "I think we can. Not with the Vita-ray detector …but I think I can use a simple Geiger-counter. While I pose as an inspector or something, you two can research here what kind of radiation levels I should be reading from – "

"Wait. What do you mean while _you_ go and _we_ stay here?" Thompson objected. "You are in no way in hell going alone."

And that unilateral decree practically started World War Three.

What had startled Norris at first about Carter was not that she was an agent but that she was a _field_ agent. He had known that Carter was there and even partnered with the former acting-chief, (as that was the favorite bit of gossip among the training personnel at the SSR boot camp), but he had simply thought that she was more of an analyst, cryptographer, or even interrogator. Ya know, the office portion of the job.

But after seeing her in action, he had quickly gotten over it. And he had thought Agent Thompson had faith in her skills as well, which is why he was just as surprised as she was that the man was objecting so vociferously.

"My saying that I don't want you to go alone does not mean that I think you are incapable of doing the job, Carter," Thompson growled frustratedly. "I am saying that you damn well need back up, and I resent you assuming that I am just going to stay here while you waltz around _nine_ warehouses playing nosy, nit-picky inspector."

"Well, what do you bloody propose, Jack?" she fired back just as frustratedly. "We need someone familiar with these files to sort through the inventory, and as a woman I will be more likely to be underestimated and taken at face value than you. Trust me as I have done this stunt before. Plus, Johnson is not going to release another agent to go with me as we are short on man-power due to the holidays."

Thompson waved off the last of her obstacles, stating dismissively, "The chief will have to get over it as it is standard operating procedures, and if that is not good enough a reason for him, I will remind him that if something happens to you, he will be the one required to explain the deviation to Col. Phillips."

More earnestly, the deputy added, "You may have done your little 'stunt' well before, but, Marge, you don't need to do it alone this time. Take one of the better junior agents with you. They'll work just as well as Stark's butler."

Much to the deputy's relief and his (as he couldn't handle anymore drama this morning without at least another cup of coffee), Carter acquiesced, stating, "Fine. I'll take Palmer with me."

~:~

She and Palmer went without much issue from the chief and were gone for most of the day. They returned in the afternoon without any incident that required a less than comfortable chat with the Colonel and had ruled out five of the warehouses, leaving four to go.

"Four of the warehouses have that kind of radiation?" he asked flabbergasted. "What's in those crates?"

"Well, that's the question that I hope you two have been asking yourselves while I have been gone," Carter remarked pointedly. "If there's a warehouse that shouldn't have these readings, that's the one and we need to find it."

"We have been," Thompson defended wearily. "But either their stock boys are extremely lazy in their record keeping or several someones are being intentionally vague on potentially interesting items."

Half-expecting Carter to snap right back at her partner, as was their want especially when they got tired, Norris was taken aback to see an almost soft smile play at the corner of her red lips, as she nudged Jack encouragingly, "Oh, chin up. At least it is not the records of that IRS Warehouse in South Dakota that we have to slog through."

Thompson shot her a confused expression as he tried to recall what she was referencing. Finally, he asked thoughtfully, "The one in Univille?"

He pronounced it as 'YOU-niville', which caused Norris to reflexively correct him with a distracted, " _UN_ -iville."

Both Thompson and Carter did a double-take to look at him in surprise as if they had forgotten that he was even there.

They did that a lot, getting lost in their own little world. The most confounding thing about his mentors was not that one of them was a woman, but their weird partnership dynamic.

The bickered like an old married couple one minute, and the next they had these compassionate, companionable moments the next. He had no idea how they could, as some of the stuff that they said to each other was more than borderline insulting.

His brother-in-law when he told him about it insisted that the arguing was 'foreplay', but he had never seen anything inappropriate or unprofessional _like_ _that_ between the two.

He just simply didn't get it.

When he didn't explain how he knew that bit of geographical trivia (because it was more than his life was worth), they moved on.

"Maybe we are going about it the wrong way," Thompson mused. "Maybe we can rule out a few of these by ease of access."

"You mean the more heavily guarded the warehouse is, the less likely they could sneak in and stash their prize?" Carter replied contemplatively.

"Yeah."

"It's possible, I suppose, but security is only as good as the people being the eyes and ears."

That intrigued Thompson, and his blue eyes narrowed in speculation, as he asked almost eagerly, "You think there might be an inside man?"

The two shared yet another look and then dove for respective personnel files.

He didn't get it, but whatever they have going clearly works for them because within less than ten minutes they found their inside man.

"Gotcha!" Thompson exclaimed, and then after Carter gave her nod of agreement, he ordered, "Norris, go and tell Wallace the news. He'll want to prep for his raid as soon as possible."

"'His raid'? What? You're not going to go claim the glory for yourself?" Carter queried. There was something in her tone of voice that prompted Norris to hesitate to do as instructed.

Thompson shrugged, "I have learned that with great glory comes great mountains of paperwork, and since you won't let me pawn it off on the probie, then no, I will pass." His cavalier attitude of pointed indifference changed however as he smirked knowingly at her, "And haven't you noticed, Carter, that I am behind on my beauty sleep?"

Norris knew that he needed to get going, but he instead waited to see how Carter would answer. If she replied in the affirmative, she would be indicating that she does pay particular attention to Jack and his looks. But if she did so in the negative, she would then present her partner with the opportunity to tease that she must then still find him as highly attractive.

But Agent Carter is too good to fall into that kind of verbal trap, and so she merely shook her head and half-chuckled, half-admonished, "Incorrigible."

She chuckled a lot less when she scolded him for 'dawdling'.

 **~10~**

 _On the Tenth day of The Curse, Murphy's Law gifted us_

 _Ten Cons-a-Running…_

Dear Gam-Gam,

I must confess that after the day that I have had today, I am almost a believer in Carter's "Curse".

As you know from my last missive, we were recently able to arrest a large cell of a much larger smuggling operation that deals in dangerous technology.

But what seems can go wrong will go wrong, as the saying goes.

First, the moronic magistrate set bail. Then, a greedy bail-bondsman decided to take the risk of posting it, and lost. _All ten of them._

This veritable genius is out of commission due to a most inconvenient case of influenza. His senior bounty hunter is on his honeymoon somewhere in the Florida Keys, and his junior hunter was put in the hospital by one of the ten that he was trying to bring in for another missed court date.

And the only reason we know that all ten are intent on skipping town was because the belligerent bail-jumper has a big mouth and blabbed their intentions to scatter 'to the four corners of the world' before he brained Junior, and Junior mentioned it to their office secretary (after he came to in the hospital), who happens to be the cousin of our fair chief switchboard operator, who of course passed it on to Carter.

And that was just how my morning started.

I won't bore you with all the nitty-gritty details of our man-hunt, but needless to say, we were yet again unable to focus on our cold cases or even our now ever increasingly lukewarm ones. And certain individuals in the office decided to make bank off our recent string of ill-luck by starting a bet as to which team can bring the most in. Loser (assumed to be us) buys a round at the pub for every one of the fugitives that the winner catches.

Now, I know you frown upon gambling, Gam-Gam, but I didn't see it as such since I thought it was a for sure thing. I also know that pride comes before the fall, and let me tell you we certainly paid the price.

Our investigative leads indicated that at least one of our rabbiters was likely holing up in his grandmother's cabin which was halfway to Canada, and that he would likely offer that as a temporary sanctuary to some of his associates before they made a dash for our northern border.

We obtained the warrant, made the long tedious if perilous (due to icy roads) drive as far as we could go, and then had to trek the rest of the way in by foot. Surprisingly, the probie was able to move stealthily through the woods and did not give away our position and had even spotted a few of the booby traps that the lowlifes had set. He later chalked that up to his 'years as a scout…boy-scout that is'.

However, his storming the castle tactics need some work, because after we followed S.O.P. – reconned, ascertained that there were three of them and they were mostly three sheets to the wind, and tossed our smoke grenades in – we charged in, intending to cut-off all their exits and subdue them, but failing miserably when he let two of them get past him, spraining his ankle in the process.

Carter ordered me to restrain our jail-bird in the hand and assess Norris for any other injuries, while she went after the other two.

Even if they hadn't been inebriated fools, they would have been no match for my Marge.

She came back with them bound, bruised, and marching reluctantly at gun point with only her hair slightly mussed.

Because we were out in the boonies, we could not radio for assistance, so we had to march all three of them back to our thankfully large vehicle.

However, the three idiots tried to run several more times, necessitating that we chase them down muddy debris-ridden hills and through icy streams and thorny briar patches. These inconvenient and short-lived detours always ended in ever increasing consequences. First, they were handcuffed to each other at the wrists forming a chain-gang, then at the ankles, forming an awkward five-legged Siamese Triplet, which was only made even more awkward when Carter shot one of them in the rear after yet another foolish attempt.

The best part of all this and why I am not fully convinced that we are 'cursed' is what happened when we arrived at the office.

While we were off having our woodland adventure, the rest of the SSR was tracking down the other seven.

Interpol had notified Johnson that they had caught one in London and one in France, and the Coast Guard had caught another while doing an inspection. Fisher and Wallace had focused their search at the docks and had caught two boarding their respective boats; one was bound for Mexico, the other Argentina. Ramirez had caught one at a train station, and Daniel had collected his at a bus station, tipped off by his bum network.

As you have no doubt done the math by now, you will have noted that this means we not only caught all ten, but that Carter and I (and the probie too, I guess) bagged the most.

We made quite the entrance – Norris limping, myself quite disheveled but triumphant, and our three cons battered, bruised, and butt-shot and eyeing Peggy Carter with terror, as if she was a demon mistress from hell.

Although I could see why she would give them that impression – tired, muddy, and peevish, brooking no-nonsense from them, and with twigs and leaves in her wild hair – to me, she was an angel - an avenging wrathful angel of justice for sure, but certainly not a demon. No demon could have such a demure yet radiant smile as she had when Ramirez and Sousa dedicated the first round to her.

So in conclusion, Gam-Gam, you can tell Nana Maria that I don't think we are 'cursed'. Yes, it was a trying day, but we still got our men (again).

Your loving grandson,

 _Jack Thompson_


	24. The Christmas Curse (11-12)

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** the final segment posted by Christmas Eve/Christmas (depending on the time zone). Mission Accomplished. Be merry (drink responsibly) and enjoy : )

* * *

 **The Christmas Curse**

* * *

 **~11~**

 _On the Eleventh day of The Curse, the Adventure Hour gave to us_

 _Eleven Snitches Snitching…_

 _"Oh Captain! You're my h – "_

Angie was just about to switch the station in deference to Peggy, when a male voice not among the usual cast broke in.

 _"We're sorry to interrupt the Adventure Hour program, but we have a gentleman here who would like to make an important and urgent announcement."_

Peggy signaled her to stop.

 _"Hello, I am Damian Rothschild, and a few months ago, my niece Rebecca Rothschild, a student from Columbia University, a good girl, went missing. Her family and I desperately want her home, so I am offering a $5000 reward for anyone who has information that could lead to that joyous outcome. The investigators who are looking into her disappearance can be reached at…"_

And then Rebecca's uncle rattled off the SSR's number.

"Bloody hell."

~:~

When she walked into the bullpen, it appeared to be pure chaos, but Daniel paused, with the phone to his ear, to explain.

"We've got the junior agents working the tip-line. Anything that they think might be of interest or credible we senior agents are following up on."

She nodded her thanks and began looking around for her partner. Daniel caught her at it and added, "We already had nearly a dozen of our usual reliable sources contact us – as in literally showing up on our front doorstep, having recognized our number. Jack has been interviewing them each in there." He indicated the interrogation rooms with a nod of his head.

Just as she was about to head into the observation room, Jack came out of the interrogation room shaking his head in disgust. When he saw her, he reported, "I have done three of these so far, and not _one_ of them has a story that shares even sliver of similarity. One claims it is the Genovese crime family who abducted her as her father has gambling debts; another claims that he saw her at a sanitarium a few weeks back trying to get sober; and another, that he saw her in Atlantic City laughing it up with what 'looked like it be her sugar daddy'."

That was all rather disheartening, and she could tell that Jack was to the point where he would almost prefer a reluctant scumbag to beat good information out of than to talk to another overly helpful, greedy source of useless of information. So putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, "Jack, do what you can to follow up on those, and I'll take the next three."

And so that is what they did, but after eleven interviews filled with contradictory reports and hours of pointless follow up, they were back to square one of nothing.

She, Jack, and Daniel were taking a brief respite to eat a late lunch (that the rookie had kindly gone and gotten) and were staring at each other morosely, when Daniel asserted glumly, "I don't know about you guys but I feel like I am drowning in a sea of misinformation."

"You mean _non_ -information," Jack grunted.

"No, you mean _dis_ -information," Peggy corrected excitedly. Daniel's words had sent her mind down a dark, suspicious path. Bits and pieces of impressions and nagging questions from all her conversations with Rebecca's family and friends were coming together and…

"What do you mean?" Daniel asked curiously, but Jack had perked up and looked as if he was tracking right along with her.

"I mean that it is suspicious that dear uncle Damian is just _now_ after months of her being missing is offering a reward for information, when that might have been more helpful in the first few days or even weeks," she declared.

"It could be that he doesn't know how crucial that first 48 hours is and is just still holding out hope," Daniel countered.

Jack snorted, "No, Carter's right. The timing is just too coincidental with us re-opening her cold case and asking questions again. All this accomplished today was mass confusion, which could be buying him time."

"To cover his tracks, notify his accomplices, makes sense," Daniel nodded grimacing. "I'll cross-check his phone records and have Fisher check into his financials."

While they did that, she and Jack made a few phone calls to some of Rebecca's close friends, asking entirely different kinds of questions than they had before, and getting entirely different results.

Rebecca's college roommate and a few of her other close friends indicated that Rebecca had ever increasingly been reluctant to go home to family get-togethers, especially when Dear Uncle Damian was there. Her roommate even indicated that the one time she had met him, the man had been intoxicated enough to drop his sophisticated façade and insulted her, denigrating hers and Rebecca's attempts to get a higher education. A former boyfriend of Rebecca's noted that he had always been 'creeped out' by how affectionate the uncle was towards her and that he had always encouraged her to set her boundaries with him.

In light of all this, their theory that Rebecca was another kidnapping victim of Leviathan's went to the uncle possibly having some connection with them and giving her over to them to the uncle just being skeazy misogynist pervert, who most likely murdered his own niece.

"Let's go get this bastard, Carter," Jack declared between clenched teeth.

It warmed her heart to see her partner so riled up about this poor most likely dead girl, but she knew his wrath would not burn so bright once his usual cool, calculating, and cynical mind began working again. After all, the only person Jack ever hated for long was his own damn self.

She remained in her chair and with deliberate casualness pointed out, "You know if we go after a member of the Rothschild family with these kinds of accusations, we will be burning a lot of bridges, politically speaking."

She assessed him speculatively. At her words, he froze, and she knew then that he was weighing the consequences. She was fully prepared for him to advocate for caution, as she knew how driven by his ambition he was.

But then, he finished putting on his coat and turned to stare indignantly down at her, declaring, "'Burn them'? Hell, for this bastard, I will happily blow them out of the water."

And so they did.

When they confronted him, Peggy took the lead and goaded him with the very intelligence he so abhorred in women. She goaded him so well that she provoked him into punching her and incriminating himself in front of witnesses, which was sufficient cause to arrest him.

And after a few hours in the box, he spilled where he had buried Rebecca's body.

The two of them finished the day on the roof, quietly drinking a toast or two in honor of their Gone-Girl Grad Student and to 'blown bridges.'

 **~12~**

 _On the Twelfth day of This Hellish Season, my partner and I were cursed with_

 _Twelve Party-crashings_

 _And the rookie…_

"Well, Carter, I got good news, bad news, and more good news," was how Jack greeted her that morning.

She shoved his feet off of her desk and scowled warily at his tired but cheeky grin. "Am I going to like any of this good news?"

He shrugged, "I dunno, depends." Before she could ask what that depended on, he shared, "That tip-line farce wasn't a complete waste of our time apparently. Per Sousa, one of the snitches gave us the skinny that there is going to be a hand-off for that chemical formula that the Patent Office 'lost'."

"Roxxon's?"

"Yep, that would be the one," he confirmed with a drawl.

"Okay, what's the bad news?"

His smile slipped a little as he unhappily divulged, "The hand-off is between a server of the Smoak & Pepper Catering Company and a guest at one of their _twelve_ events scheduled for today."

She sighed wearily. So much for a half-day today. Oh well, with her family clear across the Pond, she didn't have any real plans for Christmas Eve anyways.

"The 'more' good news?" she prompted.

His grin returned as he declared, "With all these parties, you may finally have the opportunity to clear your debt with me from our last shindig crashing."

She was saved from finding a suitable response by the rookie showing up with the addresses for all of Smoak & Peppers' events.

~:~

That very long day they attended one wedding brunch, two office lunches, three ladies' teas, four cocktail parties, and changed their outfits to suitably blend in with all, but to no avail.

At none of those did they spot any guest or caterer with the infamous holiday pin of three red rubies and twelve holly leaf-shaped emeralds.

The last two events were evening galas. The first was actually catered by a different company as the hostess had canceled the contract the last minute, but the second was their last hope of preventing a potential bio-chemical weapon getting into the wrong hands.

Jack eventually got his wish to try and finish a dance with her, but only after they circled the room and stalked the buffet and checked-in on how the rookie was doing with his perimeter checks.

For several minutes neither of them talked as they swirled around the edges of the dance floor, both scanning the crowd for their targets, but Jack, being Jack, was the first to break their companionable silence with a sardonic drawl:

"I know you like to break the mold on traditional gender roles, Carter, but does this preference of yours have to extend to who leads in dancing?"

Peggy nearly missed a step she was so startled by his question. She couldn't be offended by his comment, however, because after a few moments of reflection, she realized that she _had_ at times been taking over the lead. What many of her female friends would have found interesting was that even though they had been sporadically trading leads, they had done so flawlessly.

To keep Jack from noticing or at the very least from commenting on this very fact and all its possible interpretations, she admitted to a less embarrassing truth. "I was attempting to steer us away from the mistletoe, I think."

This startled a low chuckle from him, and he taunted, "What? Are you afraid that you won't be able to contain yourself, even if we share a chaste Christmas kiss?"

"Hardly," she scoffed. "I am bound and determined to not let Ramirez make a penny off of that pool he has going."

Jack's hold tightened on her, causing her to glance up at his face. There was brief flash of anger there that she had not been expecting, prompting her to ask, "You didn't know?"

He shook his head, "No." She relaxed more in relief at his answer than in any relaxing of his hold on her, which was near to nothing.

Jack eyed her sharply, as he added, "I am more than a little bit surprised that you do and that he's not sporting a black eye."

"Just because I am good at violence does not mean that is my favored form of revenge," she primly replied, before shooting him a sly, mischievous smile, "Especially, when it is so much more fun playing havoc with his bank account."

Jack returned her smile with an admiring one of his own, as he started to declare, "You, Marge, are one – "

But he never got to finish that sentence, nor they their dance, because at that moment there was an alarmed cry from a guest who had just had a drink spilled all over them.

This drew their attention as the server was quite noisily making her apologies as she attempted to clean the champagne dripping individual, futilely patting him dry with a cloth napkin. After a few moments, he pushed her away giving her and Jack an ample view of both parties, who shared similar taste in jewelry.

She and Jack shared a look, both realizing that the whole scene had been a ruse for the exchange of documents, and probably to give both the added benefit of an excuse for making hasty exits.

But not on their watch.

She and Jack sprang into action. Jack spun her out so that she would twirl right into the guest's path, while he moved to block the server's.

"Oh pardon me," she giggled tipsily, steadying herself by grabbing onto his jacket lapels. She noticed that the rubies on the infamous pin were shaped as red skulls.

The man tried to brush her off as he had the 'clumsy' server, but Peggy was having none of it. She reached up on tip-toe and giggled breathily, "Mistletoe."

The man instinctively looked up to gape at the offensive parasitic plant dangling above his head, giving her the perfect opportunity to plant one on him.

He went down like a ton of bricks.

She glanced over at Jack to see how he fared. He had the belligerent looking woman hand-cuffed. She was upright and mobile in comparison to hers, but that also meant she was still feisty.

Over the woman's jerking shoulders, Jack eyed the man's prone lipstick-stained form and then shot her a look that clearly said, _'Really? Again?'_ , to which she replied with a look of her own.

He nodded his understanding and muttered, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Why fix what ain't broke?"

Before she could reply, Norris (who had finally joined them and was man-handling their perp to his woozy feet) cut in and pointed out long-sufferingly, "I don't know what is more disturbing – your bickering or your meaningful glances."

She and Jack shared another pained look: _'Moment Crashed'._

~Encore~

He and Peggy were riding the elevator down at the end of another long-ass (but yet successful) day, when she reached over and hit the stop button.

It was all he could do to not let out a whimper. Three ladies' teas, a wedding brunch, and eight club-soda-only-filled parties of various kinds. Need he say more?

Before he could raise any objections, Carter turned to face him and instructed calmly, yet coolly, "Jack, at 0800 on the 26th, as soon as the shops open, you will take the rookie back to Little Hungary, and the two of you will fix those herbalists' window, _even_ if it means that you will miss Cliff's boxing game extravaganza."

She held up her hand to silence the protest that he was about to make, asserting forcefully, "Come Monday morning, Jack, I will have enough on my plate playing catch up on all our reports from the mayhem that we have endured these past few weeks. _There will not be an unlucky 13th day_."

Normally, he would have objected to her high-handed manner and yet another ruining of his weekend plans, but he considered all of the instances of mayhem that they had experienced – the parties, the snitches, the bail-jumping fugitives, the warehouses, the wailing divas, the week-long stakeout, the bombs, the ghosts of cases past, the relentless dames, the egghead conspiracy, the spiteful hags, and his puppy of a probation officer.

So instead, he wisely and without a hint of condescension replied with a meek, "Yes, dear."

 _I wish us a Merry Christmas. I wish us a Merry Christmas. I wish us a Merry Christmas._

 _And a Happy New Year…_

 _(With no rookie)_


	25. Career Paths: LA

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** in dedication to the SSR NY branch, which brought us the awesomeness of Peggy Carter, the possibility of Cartson, and my faves the puppy dog Sousa and Rose, the switchboard queen, I present to you ...

* * *

 **Career Paths: L.A.**

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

From amidst her highly organized stacks upon stacks of case files in the conference room, Carter mumbled (or was it grumbled?) in surprise.

Jack wasn't offended by her less than pleased and more than a bit suspicious tone. In fact, Jack didn't know if he should be gratified that he had surprised the almost all-knowing Carter or be disappointed in himself that he had become predictable enough in his routine that his being there that late was such a remarkable thing. Now granted, he wasn't working the night-shift, (thank God), so normally he would be drinking his nightcap (or his second) at this hour, but Carter was on night shift, sort of.

Peggy was working late into the night on the latest project from Johnson – cross-examining and triple-checking the evidence on Fisher's case as it was about to go to trial. Tedious and mind-numbing work, unless your passion was numbers, which was most definitely not the case for a girl of action like Carter.

He was slightly offended though that she didn't seem too intent on finding out the answer to her half-hearted query as she was so focused on whatever she was reading in the folder in front of her.

Jack had come here with a purpose, and additionally she needed saving, so he shut the conference room door with a decided click and announced quietly, "We need to talk."

Those four little words pulled her out of her reverie, like nothing short of an earthquake would. Leaning back in her chair, she arched an eyebrow and joked, "Hmm, sounds ominous and personal. Do you have any family members in town that I need to warn away from ferries? And," she paused to glance dramatically out to the bullpen " – is this really the time or place to be having one of _those_ kinds of conversations?"

He smiled to himself. If she was teasing him, she was at Peggy's punch-drunk level of tiredness, which was good. It would make this conversation a lot easier for him as long as he did not push her over into Carter's I'm-so-crabby-I-want-to-punch-your-face exhaustion level.

"No, no family is in town," he admitted amusedly, and then he added with a dismissive jerk of his head, "And don't worry about the night-shift boys, I sent them out to get their dinner and forwarded all the calls to here."

The humorous light in her eyes faded, as they narrowed in guarded wariness, "So this _is_ the serious we-need-to-talk kind of chat, isn't it?"

Not wanting her to be apprehensive, he teased, "So serious that I am voluntarily here to help you with your punishment detail."

That earned him a dramatic scoff as she groused, "Which you should have been a part of, as you are the one who sent me in there to interrupt his interrogation in the first place."

"Please," he defended indignantly, "the man was about to get rough with someone that possibly had diplomatic immunity." (He did per the state department suit that Jack had been on the phone with, and thus had been unable to go warn Johnson himself.) "So what does he care about social niceties like 'not shooting the messenger'?"

Carter scowled at the mountains of paperwork in front of her and grudgingly replied, "Touché."

There was a contemplative moment of silence before she broke it with "So what is it that we need to talk about?" at the same time he blurted, "You should request a transfer to the L.A. office."

"Wait. What?"

He hastened to explain before she thought (if she didn't already) that this was the "I'm-breaking-up-with-you" kind of serious talk – because he was, in fact, far from that – er, breaking up their _partnership_ , that is.

"Yeah, you're a talented, ambitious, and damn-good agent, Carter, and you're being wasted here at this office. Johnson and the Big Bosses in D.C. are all too chummy and pig-headed to let you into their club, to let you … well, _be you_. The Los Angeles office is down a man, er, agent, because he got seduced by the dark side, a.k.a. Langley, and I know Yates will take you on because he is letting his deputy Jorgensen make all the staffing decisions."

"Why?"

"Why is he letting him make all the decisions? Because he's retiring in a few months and Jorgensen will be the new L.A. chief," he answered matter-of-factly, and he hoped in a less babbling and more coherent manner. Her poker-face was extremely off-putting.

"No, I knew that already," she asserted, waving her hand dismissively. "The switchboard girls let me in on that before you even probably knew. No, I mean why would Jorgensen want me?"

He snorted, "Because he's a smart man and knows what an excellent resource you would be, _unlike some people_." He was referring mostly to Johnson and the Big Bosses when he said that last bit, but if she had to ask…then she might be one of those people too.

Carter's eyes narrowed, "And _how_ does he know that? I am sure Johnson isn't singing my praises at their inter-branch chief meetings."

Okay, so not one of 'those people', just a highly skilled agent with a healthy dose of skepticism.

He shrugged and busied himself with some of the files, as he asserted with more hope than confidence, "Maybe he listens to his switchboard girls too."

Yeah, judging by her arched eyebrow, she didn't buy it either.

" _Jaaack_ ," she singsong-ed reproachfully.

He could tell by the twitching of the corners of her mouth that she was more amused at his attempt to mislead her than she was angered by it. So with a reluctant sigh, he explained, "Alright, Jorgensen and I talk. We used to be at the San Francisco office together. So he knows how Johnson can be, and he has been wanting to get the band back together, so to speak."

Her expressive dark brows furrowed in confusion as she asked, "So why don't you transfer?"

He wanted to answer _'because I won't leave you, my partner, behind'_ , but knew that would go over like a lead balloon with Peggy. He could just hear her offended rhetoric: _'I don't need you to be my white knight at the office, Jack. I am a big girl. I can take care of myself.'_ Blah. Blah. Blah.

Yeah, so instead he replied, just as honestly, "Because while Yates won't care if Jorgensen willingly takes on the 'headache' of a female agent, he _will_ care if his last two months are plagued by me. The man absolutely despises me, and he will deny the transfer flat out."

This time there was a full-on smirk of amusement as she asked dryly, "What did you do to piss him off so much?"

He tried to hide his own smirk. He truly did. But he knew that he failed as he explained in a dismissive drawl, "Oh, you know, the usual story: a young dashing rookie in one office dukes it out with an old curmudgeon of a veteran in another office over jurisdiction of a case as well as who should be the prime suspect, and," he concluded with yet another shrug, "I won - on both accounts - possibly humiliating the old curmudgeon in the process."

Carter shot him a look that clearly said: _'You? Noooo. Say it isn't so.'_ In response, he shrugged again, this time with more sheepishness than he had yet so far. He knew that he could be a downright asshole and had been even worse when he was starting out. Dooley had liked his brashness. Many others admittedly did not and still don't. He didn't always know which category Carter fell into. Most of the time, she was probably in the latter category. But sometimes...sometimes he suspected she was more like Dooley in that regard.

Not rising to the bait, he continued, "But yeah so, when Yates retires and Jorgensen gets promoted, there will be a spot available that I can request a transfer to. As the new guy on the block, I won't be able to be his Deputy right away, so that will be a pay cut, but on the plus side, I will be closer to my family again. _And_ if a certain someone follows my advice _now_ , I will have a friendly face in the bullpen to greet me and possibly a partner I already trust."

His explanation startled an unladylike snort from Carter. When she recovered, she observed wryly, "Hmm…so really your suggestion that I request a transfer has more to do with you than me…"

He chuckled as he admitted, "Yes, there are a few perks in my favor," but more soberly, he defended himself, "But really, Marge, if it was just about me, I could equally be having this conversation with Ramirez or Sousa, and I am not."

It wasn't a completely logical and fool-proof argument, but Carter nodded her head in understanding anyways. In fact, she looked to be so understanding that he could have sworn that she even knew what he wasn't saying. Much to his relief, however, all she said (in her best nasally New Yorker voice) was: "But leave New York? For _Tinseltown_?"

He relaxed, if she was mock-arguing, then she was at least partially already sold on the idea.

"Why would you want to do that? I don't know... Sunshine? Beaches? Movie stars?" he retorted mildly. "All the reasons your actress friend Angie will probably try her hand there sooner or later. And probably the same reasons Stark spends his time there more often than not too."

"And what does Howard's itinerary have to do with this discussion?" she asked in genuine puzzlement.

"Well, if that McCarthy chap is right, there is a hot-bed of anti-democratic activity in Hollywood, which would just be the perfect place for Hydra-Zodiac-Leviathan-whatever recruitment. But really all I got to say is that if Howard Stark is there, then that is most likely where the action on that front will be."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, (surprisingly not rolling her eyes at his pet Stark theory), and eventually acknowledged, "You might be onto something there."

He nearly made some snarky comment about her admitting that he 'might' be right about something, but was stopped short when she added, " _And_ there have been rumors that this is where Dottie disappeared to."

Humph. Well, if he had known that was all that it would take to convince her that the transfer was a good idea was to mention that her very own white whale would be there too, he would have skipped all the flattery, self-deprecating humor, and well-reasoned logic and saved himself some time.

She must have seen something in his expression, because she then _did_ roll her eyes and softly chided, "Oh don't be like that, Jack. It was a well-crafted if roundabout argument, and I _will_ consider it and not just because of Dottie either."

He sighed with relief, murmuring softly, "Thank you."

She nodded her acceptance and then flipped open the file she had previously dropped. He thought she got lost in its contents, but when he stood up, her dark head snapped up and she scowled at him, "Oh no. Where do you think you're going? You're little ambushed tête-à-tête just cost me a half hour. You're going to help me get that back."

He cleared his throat nervously at the threat she held in her dark eyes, before drawling, "Aw come on, Marge, would I leave a lady in the lurch like that? Especially, my own partner? I was just gonna get me a cup of coffee and refill your tea for you before I dived in."

And before she could say anything, he hastily made his exit to do just that.

As the door was closing, he overheard her grumble, "Damn straight you were."

So shit. Punch-drunk Peggy had given way to her Evil Twin of Exhaustion. It was going to be a long night.

And the irony was not lost on him that he had just done his level best to make sure he would not leave this woman behind when he jumped ship – had even purposefully placed himself in the line of fire to do so.

As he made her another cup of tea to her exacting methods, he knew deep in his bones and without any doubt in his mind that it was all worth it. She was worth it.

~A~

 _A few months later..._

Jack found himself blushing as he stared at the postcard in his hand. Yes, _blushing_ , as in 'red as a tomato' as his Nana Maria would say.

It was an innocent enough postcard. It had 'Greetings from Los Angeles' stamped across the front. The city's skyline depicted within its block-lettering. The message on the back was also innocent enough. Nothing he would be ashamed to show his mother or Gam-Gam.

But if Ramirez saw it and the stupid smile that was far wider than his usual smirk, he would say just one word and only one: 'Whipped'.

 _Dear Jack,_

 _I saw that actress who plays the lost, shoe-stealing Kansas girl last week, but have not seen so far our_

 _invention-stealing Dorothy. Howard says it is because I have had no opportunities to make a nuisance of myself._

 _I am counting down the days until Yates is officially retired and you can submit your transfer request._

 _The agents here are worse than you when it comes to the alphabet, and I have yet to find or at least train_

 _someone to make a decent cup of tea. Maybe you will have better luck._

 _Oh, and_ _why is it that they flinch every time I reach for a stapler?_

 _In 14 days,_

 _Agent Marge Carter_

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, my lovelies, it has been fun. I have some ideas for how Cartson will play out in L.A. and after (and there _will_ be more Cartson romance), but I would like to see how second season goes before I decide to go more AU than I have already.

Please let me know what you think of the journey so far, which was your favorite one- or two-shot (there were more of those than I originally intended), and maybe what you would like to see in the future.

For those of you who have reviewed, favorited, and followed, thank you all for your kind encouraging words and support. As always, I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it (and will continue to enjoy, no worries)

Until the next über-long hiatus : )


	26. Better Together

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello again, so as promised more Cartson. I may incorporate elements of season 2 later on but for now, it is definitely AU.

Also brownie points for anyone who can spot my reference to Pride & Prejudice : )

Anywho, Enjoy!

* * *

 **Better To gether**

* * *

"Listen, Jack. I know you wanted, expected even, to be partnered with Carter when you got out here," Samuel Jorgensen declared half pleadingly, half apologetically, as they sat sequestered in his new chief's office.

The scotch that had burned so good, now turned sour in Jack's stomach, and it now made sense as to why his friend had offered him his best right out of the gate. He was buttering him up.

"But you gotta see it from my point of view," Sam continued to explain. "She's damn good. You weren't overselling that. And it would be a damn waste of resources not to have the both of you as team leads."

Jack didn't say anything in reply to this for a while, mostly to pettily punish his friend, who was anxiously awaiting his forgiveness. But then he swallowed the last of his scotch as well as his disappointment and drawled, "Well, I am glad to hear that you're not gonna make a liar out of me."

At Jorgensen's questioning look, he explained, "I told her that you would see her merit and give her a chance."

"I do, but just so you know, she still needs to prove her worth to some here."

"She always does."

~A~

"What is that? Like the sixth this week?" Jack asked, as she erased yet another one of her team's cases from the assignment board.

She couldn't tell if he was impressed or exasperated, so all she said was, "Yes." With a nod to the one that he had just cleared, she asked, "And this is your…fourth?"

"Yeah, we would have had more, but we're down a man. Connors is out sick," he answered somewhat defensively.

Now that they weren't partners, it was a little hard to read him, but with that tone, she could tell that the competitiveness between their teams was getting to him.

"Hmmm…I had heard from my boys that the only reason you hadn't joined in on this ridiculous bet was that you 'don't bet on a sure thing'," she mused thoughtfully.

"That's right," he acknowledged cautiously, detecting a trap. Smart man.

"Oh good. Then you won't mind when Jorgensen assigns Daniel to my team, when he comes out here in two weeks."

Daniel had to testify in court next week, but after that he was going to be flying out here temporarily to follow up on a lead that the Chameleon-Maker was practicing his arts here in L.A.

It only made sense that the chief would assign the best team to such a high-profile case, and both she and Jack were itching to wipe that stain of a case from their record.

Jack sensing the challenge, smirked at her, "Oh, you thought I meant you were the sure thing? Carter, that's so… _sweet_."

She resisted the urge to slap the patronizing smirk off his face (she had just asked for it, hadn't she?), and retorted coolly, "Just have your man recover quickly. I don't want to hear you whine about how you lost to us due to man-power issues."

~A~

"I heard you caught the auction house case," Jack stated into the break room's silence, as he waited for his coffee to brew and she for her tea's water to boil.

"We did," she confirmed, not doing a very good job at hiding her annoyance.

Jack detected it of course, and was just as bad at hiding his glee (and worse at conveying genuine sympathy), as he asked, "Witnesses can't remember a thing?"

"Not a damn thing," she huffed, wishing the water would boil faster so that she would not have to be in his gloating presence any longer. In the few months that they had been thousands of miles apart, she had somehow managed to forget how unbearably smug Jack could be.

"That's got to be tough," he commiserated.

Her team's investigation into the missing auction pieces was proving more than a bit difficult, especially when the crowd of bidders and the auctioneer, the staff, and security personnel did not recall anything other than 'feeling the happiest I have ever felt'. More like – what were the kids calling it these days? Oh yes – _stoned_ out of their minds. Yet there was not a trace of any known euphoric-inducing substances in their systems.

But no matter how sincere in his sympathy Jack might (eventually) become, she was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how flummoxed she was.

"Eh," she shrugged dismissively. "The auctioneers are most likely simply committing insurance fraud, if somewhat creatively," and to quickly change the topic, she inquired curiously, "You got the dead mafia lieutenants case, right?"

"Yeah," he huffed, apparently equally disgruntled with his new case as she was. "And before you say anything – No, it wasn't a lifetime of pasta finally catching up to them. All three were in their prime, and the last one was a health nut. Ate like a rabbit," he sneered that last bit in disgust before concluding, "And the coroner ruled that all three Nobili lieutenants died of heart attacks 'induced by unnatural causes'."

Peggy did not say anything in reply to this, mostly because she hadn't been going to say any of that stereotypical drivel as she had already known all of that – a fact which he should have very well known about her. So instead she limited her response to steeping her tea and arching her eyebrow.

Either not catching on to her pointed look or choosing to ignore it, he continued with exaggerated breeziness, "So it was poison, simple enough. Why the L.A. gang squad needed to call us in, I don't know. It was probably someone from the Paguro family who decided to get _creative_ in the way they take down their rivals."

Before she could point out the many holes in his theory, he returned to the bullpen with his cup of straight black coffee – which for the sake of her winning their little wager was probably for the best.

~A~

"Hey, Miss Car– Agent Carter - ma'am - sir," a young wet-behind-the-ears agent called out haltingly, while holding a phone to his ear.

"Spit it out, Williams," she ordered briskly, if not unkindly.

Williams nervously swallowed, as he reported, "They found the missing paintings and vases – vahzes? – vases at the auction house, when they did an overhaul of their inventory."

Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose in the hopes of warding off a headache, for there went her simple insurance fraud case.

"Do they know if the found items are authentic?" she asked hopefully.

There was a brief pause, while Williams relayed the inquiry, and then apologetically her youngest team member shared, "So far, but they are still in the process of authenticating."

Shit. Thompson was going to have a field day with this.

~A~

"Hey, boss?"

"Yes, Anders?" he replied patiently. His irritation with the man's hesitancy was assuaged by the deferential honorific.

"We got a problem. The city morgue has another suspicious gangster death," Anders explained.

"I don't really see the problem," he scoffed. "A good Nobili is a dead Nobili."

"Er, that's the problem. It's not a Nobili, but one of their rivals, the Paguros."

Shit. He sincerely regretted giving Peggy a hard time now.

. ~A~

"Coming from the lab?"

Jack's curious voice cut into her mental rundown of her to-do list, as they both stood waiting for the elevator.

More out of the desire not to stand there in awkward silence for the slowest lift in history than out of the desire to gloat, Peggy shared her good news, "Yes, Dr. Samberly just confirmed the toxin was airborne." (They had had the forethought to obtain blood samples from the amnesiac 'witnesses' when the auction house was 'robbed' a second time). "We're going to stakeout the air vents at this afternoon's auction in case there is a third attack."

"Catch your guy red-handed. Clever." Jack praised.

Peggy was not sure how to reply to that, mostly as she was waiting for the backhanded part of the compliment. When it didn't come, she didn't say anything, not until after they entered the elevator and she noticed him rocking impatiently back and forth on his heels while waiting for the lift doors to slowly close.

"Where are you headed to in such a rush?"

Jack shrugged (but stopped rocking), as he shared with forced casualness, "Oh, to check on all the gang-squads' alibis."

She arched an eyebrow and declared, "That's ballsy."

Jack shrugged again but stood up straighter at her compliment, asserting, "Not really. We wouldn't be doing our jobs, if my team did not look into this angle, especially since they have a bit of a reputation for being 'overzealous'."

She didn't know what was more impressive – him having the guts to actually label local law enforcement (and the gang squad no less) as persons of interest or him being humble about it.

Not wanting to sabotage his newly gained trait of modesty, she mirrored his attitude of nonchalance, stating mildly, "It's as good as a theory as any."

Their weird truce ended however as soon as the elevator doors opened. As if a spell had been broken, Peggy found herself saying, "Well, I would say 'happy hunting', but…"

Jack grinned at her knowingly, almost predatorily, as he stated wryly, "But so far we've been nothing but _bracingly_ honest with one another. Why change now?"

"Yes, why indeed?"

They went their separate ways then – she, to the armory, and he, to the bullpen. But before they got out of hearing range of one another, Peggy heard Jack call, "Hey, Carter! Break a leg!"

Sensing that he didn't completely mean it in the thespian sense, she flipped him the two-finger salute before disappearing around the corner.

His deep appreciative chuckles echoed down the halls after her though, sending her spine a-tingling.

~A~

Jack's attempt to scowl a helpful clue for any one of his team's cases was thwarted by Carter cocking her hip against his desk.

Without looking away from his case board, he growled irritably, "Not now, Carter."

Now though would be the perfect time for him to taunt her about the fact that her team had let their one caught suspect slip through their fingers, while laughing their happy-gassed asses off, but as she gave as good as she got, he just wasn't in the mood.

Peggy huffed impatiently, "No, it's not about that." When he didn't look at her, she reached over and spun his chair around to face her, declaring sharply, "Look, that missing-actresses case that you have? The one where seasoned stars go missing for days and then come back less than green and practically talentless? I may have a lead for you…"

He still didn't say anything, mostly because he couldn't believe his ears. But as he didn't tell her to piss off, she continued, "Angie was told that 'Perry Rhys' was _the_ headshot photographer to have. Apparently, new actresses' careers sky-rocket after using him, and his name appears on all three guest lists of the places that your stars disappeared from."

Jack finally found his voice, and his ever present skepticism won out over common courtesy, as he snarked, "What is this? 'If you can't beat 'em, join them'?"

Yeah, his Gam-Gam would have smacked the back of his head for that, but Carter only rolled her eyes and sighed tiredly before walking away, "Just look into it, Jack."

He did look into it.

And of course, her tip panned out, as it was goddamn Peggy-effing-Carter.

A lot of weird sciencey mumbo-jumbo (that he wasn't going to ever fully understand) allowed Rhys to steal and transfer talent into those who were willing to pay.

And now in order to balance the scales, he owed her a tip. Or else he would never be able to look her in the eyes again.

And that would be a damn shame, for she had such a fine pair of them.

* * *

 **A/N:** Also, the plots of cases were inspired by/adapted from WH13. Double brownie points if you recognize them ; )

Anywho, thoughts?


	27. Intervention

**Moments**

* * *

 **Intervention**

* * *

Jack bit out a curse and slapped the side of the radio, but to no avail. All he got was static.

"You're not going to be able to hear Teddy's match. The signal isn't strong enough here," Carter informed him, her voice filled with tiredness and regret, as she sat down companionably next to him at the table in the break room. "I tried last week too."

Jack bit back a curse, and instead took a sip of his very Irish coffee.

"Bad day?" Peggy noted.

At his 'no shit, Sherlock' look, she held up her hands in defense, stating, "I'm just surprised is all, as usually you are less of a grouch and more of a strutting bastard after you close a case."

He raised his eyebrows at her salty language, but decided to let it go, (for now), and chose to answer honestly if a bit cryptically.

"It was a nurse."

"A nurse killed those mafia lieutenants?" Carter asked in surprise, more so probably that a woman in the helping profession was a killer than the fact that she was of the fairer sex.

"Yeah, she would walk up to them and smile before placing her electrified gloves to their chests," he explained before taking another long sip of his coffee.

"An electric shock to a stopped heart jolts it into action again – "

"But a shock to a healthy heart stops it stone dead," he finished with a shiver. Little Miss 'Do-no-harm' tried to use it on him in her attempt to escape.

"What was her motive?"

"Her brother, who was her only surviving relative, was killed in a turf war between the Nobilis and Paguros, so she decided to use the mad skills that her late inventor father gave her to 'hand' out some justice for her and other victims and their families that she came into contact with at the hospital," he explained darkly.

Peggy watched him quietly for a few moments before observing knowingly, "It was one of those cases, where you are left wondering if justice was done at all, huh?"

"Yep," he agreed bitterly, before bestirring himself to ask, "So how about you? I heard that you closed that auction house case too."

"Yep," she answered, sounding just as happy as he did, as she went to remove the whistling tea kettle from the stove. "The auction house party-crashers were actually robbing the joint, all three times, but they were just stealing back what had already been stolen from them. Apparently, the auctioneer is a fence for local stolen goods, and my thieves were 'reclamation artists'."

"You sympathize with your Robin Hoods, even though they can be classified as bio-terrorists, don't you?" he needled with a smirk.

"A little," she admitted with a shrug.

He eyed her for a moment, before shrewdly pointing out, "But that is not is what is bothering you. Well," he amended, "it is bothering you enough for an extra strong cup of tea, but not so day-ruining that you get foul-mouthed with your name-calling towards me."

A short bark of laughter escaped her cherry red lips before she pursed them in mock thoughtfulness. "It could be that you just bring out the worst in me, Jack. Did you ever think of that?"

"I have thought of it," he declared smugly, "and I have come to the only conclusion possible."

"Oh?"

"You realize deep down that unlike me none of those gents on your team have the fortitude to take the full force of one of your tongue-lashings, not even dear Daniel."

He had mentioned Sousa to gripe about the fact that her team had been assigned to his Chameleon-Maker case (they solved three cases to his team's two last week), but something flashed in her eyes at the mention of his name, and he knew whatever was bothering her had to do with him.

Peggy went no-doubt to sharply comment on his 'fortitude', but he cut her off with, "No, don't think you can derail me, Carter. Daniel said something to you, that's got you all bent out of shape. Spill."

She huffed with annoyance at his 'chief' voice, but sat down across from him anyways, mumbling, "Well, you're gonna hear about it anyways."

"What am I gonna hear, Carter?" he asked more sharply than he meant to, but an overwhelming sense of dread was hitting him in the solar plexus.

"Rose-called-him-and-Johnson-set-up-a-sting-and-captured-Dottie," she blurted out in one breath.

"Bloody fu- orking hell!"

Johnson, _Johnson_ , of all SSR chiefs got the glory of catching that bitch. Johnson!

He gave up all pretense at that and whipped out his flask, dumping over half of its contents into his mug to truly Irish it up.

Peggy arched her ever-expressive eyebrows at that, dryly declaring, "I have _got_ to convince you of the wonders of tea, as it is certainly easier on your liver."

"I am an American. Tea just ain't gonna hack it, sweetheart, especially after a day like today and news like that," he retorted.

But like a dog with a bone, she did not give up.

"You need to talk to someone," she declared, with more soft concern than abrasive bite, as was her typical tone with him.

Not wanting to be pitied, he bit out, "Like you do?"

His voice had been dripping with skepticism, because he truly didn't believe that lone wolf and stiff-upper-lip Peggy talked about 'feelings' to anyone. He certainly couldn't imagine her on some shrink's couch.

But to his amazement, she readily admitted, "Yes, like I do. I talk to several someones – Angie, the Jarvises, even you occasionally, to name a few. Now granted not one of you gets the whole picture, but I share just enough that the demons don't need to be drowned out by a bottle every night. Can you say that?"

He nearly snapped 'Of course, I do' to her challenge, but then he knew she would ask who. And the name that came immediately to the tip of his tongue was hers. Exhibit Z: this very conversation. Exhibit A – Y: all the other times he had talked with Carter and how much easier it had been for him to sleep those nights.

He was not about to tell her that, of course. He was not some pathetic sap in a romance novel.

After a few moments too long, he growled out vaguely, "Occasionally."

When Peggy shot him a look as doubting as biblical Thomas's, he snapped peevishly, "Your concern is duly noted."

He also silently promised to look up old Frankie Allen, his platoon's chaplain and his friend, who he had heard had returned to civilian priesthood once out of service and his parish was local. Perhaps, he could have a nice confessional chat to unload all of his baggage of guilt, that only a Catholic born-and-raised boy could carry for so long.

To change the subject, he asked, "So how did this long overdue takedown happen?"

Peggy sighed, "They let Dottie have access to a bank vault before locking her in there and releasing knockout gas."

He let out low whistle, "That's mighty expensive. That kind of modification to the bank's security system would have taken quite the loosening up of the budget purse-strings, I imagine."

At Peggy's sniff of disapproval, he grinned at her and teased, "You're imagining how you could have done it for a tenth of the cost, aren't you?"

"A hundredth," she declared with the exact same amount of confidence when she had a stellar hand at poker.

If this had been a card game, he would have folded. But as it wasn't, he called her 'bluff'. "Oh? How would you have done it?"

After taking a sip from her now perfectly made cup of tea, she asserted hotly, "I would have waited in the vault and then clobbered her with bags of all that gloriously heavy _capitalist_ coin that she so despises. Thank you very much."

"Oh Marge, if I had been chief, I would have let you."

~A~

A few weeks later, Peggy noticed that Jack was looking far more rested and that she was catching him less and less often sneaking 'coffee' breaks in the agents' lounge or anywhere else for that matter.

Before she got a chance to ask him about it, she overheard Vega complain, "Thompson, how can you be so fresh and effing chipper this morning? It's a goddamn _Sunday_ morning at that!"

It was all hands on deck, because the _Red Radio_ had broadcasted again on a pirate frequency last night, and the Powers-That-Be were demanding that they be found and shut down yesterday. The Powers-That-Be didn't seem to grasp the intricacies of time-travel.

Her own Sunday-morning-brain's loopy thoughts were interrupted by Blackwell's juvenile snickering, "Thompson's finally gettin' somethin'-somethin'. If you know what I mean?"

For some reason, that set her teeth on edge, and she began to reach inexplicably for her stapler.

Jack kept his cool though, which was uncharacteristic for him, and he simply ordered, "Get your mind out of the gutter, Blackwell." But then, with far less indifference (and with a significant glance in her direction), he explained, "I just came from mass. You should try it some time. It's good for the soul."

While everyone else gave him a hard time about 'getting religion', Peggy found herself smiling contentedly.

Jack Thompson had taken her advice. _And_ he had in his own way let her know that she was right.

There was hope for the man yet.

And for some reason, knowing that she had made that small of a difference in one man, _that man_ , meant more to her than catching her merry band of Robin Hoods and the other dozen or so criminals these past few weeks combined.

It was inexplicable.

On a logical level at least.


	28. Fiction Can Be Rewritten 2:1-3

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** my Moments-verse version of Season 2 as told from Jack's point of view

 **Disclaimer:** some lines are original to the series and not my own

Anywho, Enjoy!

* * *

 **Fiction Can Be Rewritten**

 **2.1-3**

* * *

"Jack, have a seat."

There was something in his friend's tone of voice that told him that this was not the kind of conversation where he could kick his feet up on the desk.

He sat as instructed and watched as Samuel switched on his office radio and then tap on the jammer that Samberly developed. If whoever his chief suspected was listening actually was, all they would hear would be the typical static that an interfering radio signal would make as well as the L.A. Dodgers' game.

"Vernon Masters has requested that I give you and your team the Lady of the Lake case."

"He's not happy with how she is conducting the investigation, or the fact that a woman is the lead on such a high profile case?" he theorized with a snort.

"Both, I would guess, actually." Jorgensen asserted dryly, as he came around his desk and sat in the chair next to his. "I declined his request on the basis that I wanted to appear fair and not show favoritism for my friend."

With his elbows on his knees, Sam leaned forward and shot straight with him. "Masters is part of an organization that has been interfering with SSR cases since this branch opened up out here, and the movers and the shakers of this town don't want Carter or anybody else looking into Isodyne any further. I suspect, Masters will come to you now, his old law school buddy's son, and ask you to keep tabs on the case and possibly more."

"And you're asking me not to?"

"No," Sam shook his head. "No, I am asking to know now what your decision is going to be when Masters comes calling and offers you the chance to be Chief again and more. I want to prepare myself, and I am hoping that our friendship will mean enough that you will be straight with me as I have been with you."

Jack eyed the decanter of brandy that was sitting on the credenza behind the chief's desk, and he cursed the fact that now was the time he had committed to cut back on his drinking.

A part of him would love to be the kind of guy that could readily say 'of course you can count on me' to his friend. Captain America was probably that kind of guy, but he just was not wired that way.

When he came back from the war, he had been a mess – only a small step above that bum that Sousa had first poorly interviewed all those months ago. His father had despised him and his mother had been in tears almost every day, grieving for her boy who had for all intents and purposes died in the war.

And then came Masters, his father's old college buddy, and he had offered him a job, a place to prove himself.

And he had. He moved up in the ranks, impressed Dooley, transferred to the SSR New York office, and the rest was history. He could look his father in the eyes again, if not always his own.

If Jorgensen was right, then Masters and his powerful connections could help him continue on that path – _if_ he played ball with them. If he did not, then conversely they also had the power to ruin him and whatever chance he had to avoid seeing that look in his parents' eyes again.

He thought about the moment he had accepted the Navy Cross then, how empty and hollow he had felt, and he knew that he would never be able to make that kind of deal with the devil again. He would not betray his friend or Peggy in their quest for truth and justice.

"I am your man, Chief."

~A~

Jack was on hold with the D.A.'s assistant when he overheard Carter's heated discussion with the chief in his office.

"You 'fixed a couple of details' on my report?"

Ah, the sweet dulcet tones of an indignant Peggy Carter. How he did not envy Samuel.

After a brief pause, during which he can only assume Carter was reading over the amended report, she declared, "This is rubbish."

"This is standard C.Y.A., Carter. I'm not filing a report about you running around Hollywood with this guy. People might get the wrong idea."

"Which is what?"

"That you're a Communist," Samuel stated slowly, almost as if he couldn't believe he had to outline the political quagmire for his normally savvy agent.

"The only Communist I know is Dottie Underwood. Has New York gotten any information out of her yet?"

"Don't worry about things that don't concern you, Carter. In fact, shouldn't you and Sousa be investigating that plastic surgeon?"

Peggy ignored this and continued to argue her case, "She was stealing from the very organization that we are investigating."

Jack always suspected that when Peggy thought she was right, she would argue until she was blue in the face and then some.

"And that investigation is concluded. Your John Hancock, please," the Chief demanded, sounding tired. Jack wondered how long the man could keep up the charade of hindering Peggy, for the benefit of anyone else who might be watching on Vernon's behalf.

"I'm not signing that."

"Fine. You don't need to."

"You can't do that, Jorgensen." Oh look who finally decided to join the party. Sousa had only been standing there the whole time.

"That's _Chief_ Jorgensen or _sir_ to you, Agent Sousa," snapped his superior, "And might I remind you that you are on loan from the NY office? I'm sure if you don't like how I run things, you can ask to be reassigned to a case back there."

Over Sousa's mumbled 'No, sir', Peggy declared, "Isodyne is using Wilkes as a patsy! They found something so dangerous, it destroyed their own lab. Now they're pretending it never happened."

"If only you could prove that."

"Watch the Isodyne film. See for yourself what they're hiding."

There was a long ominous pause, and then Jorgensen was growling, "Drop. It. The case is closed."

As the Chief escorted the equally furious pair out of his office, his eyes met Jack's and gave him a nod.

Jack disconnected his call, deciding it would be faster to flirt with the D.A.'s clerk than talk with his assistant anyways.

But right now, he had his orders to have a cinematic experience.

~A~

"You know, it's a real shame that they didn't make your short time as Chief a more permanent thing. That Johnson is a brown-nosing idiot," Vernon Masters declared, as he signaled the bartender for one more round of shots.

"I couldn't agree with you more," Jack asserted as he clinked his glass against his self-appointed patron's.

Jorgensen had been on the money when he said that Masters would reach out to him. Not only had Masters asked that he get what information he could out of Peggy about her investigation, but he had asked him to hand over key evidence – the film reel that Dr. Wilkes had stolen from Isodyne before getting himself blown up.

After watching the film, Jack knew that Masters and his 'friends' would want it destroyed and would destroy it if they got their hands on it.

And after Masters had come to him and talked of impressing important people and throwing out words like 'national security', he knew that he would never earn Masters' trust and find out who his 'friends' were or their agenda, if he didn't hand it over.

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Fortunately, he knew how to network, and he called up an old squid buddy of his, who owed him a favor still.

"So do you got it, son?" Masters asked.

"I do," Jack replied, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the film reel case that had 'Property of Isodyne' stamped across it. He shook it so that the FBI agent could hear its contents rattle in there, before sliding it across the bar towards the man.

"Did you watch it?" Masters asked, eyeing him like a hawk would a mouse.

"If Rita Hayworth's not in it, I'm not interested," he deadpanned.

After the FBI agent tried to feed him a whole bunch of shit about medals and doing his country a 'great service', the man left smug in his certainty that Jack was his man.

Jack stayed behind to nurse the last of his free scotch (he no longer had any at home), and smirked quietly to himself. It earned him a disconcerted look from the bartender, but he didn't care.

Vernon had left with the original Isodyne case, but not the original film reel. His old Marine buddy happened to be in the film industry and knew how to make stellar copies. The original was locked up in a train station locker that not even Sam knew about.

When the time came to bring these 'movers and shakers' to justice, Jack was going to be fully prepared.

~A~

"I am telling you, Jack, there is a conspiracy afoot. The Arena Club is fabricating the future just the way that they fabricated the story about Dr. Wilkes. The newspapers I found are proof. The headline read "Anderson ankles election'," Peggy urgently stated, looking at him expectantly.

It was the look that he had known would be coming and which he had been dreading. It was the look his partner gave him countless times before when she wanted him to back her theories up with Johnson or help her work around his bureaucratic orders.

It was the look that signaled that now was the moment, here in one of the interrogation observation rooms with Peggy and Daniel that he had to play his part in his and Samuel's scheme – he had to distance himself from Peggy and begin to prove to Masters that he wasn't wrapped around her fingers as the rumors were saying.

And she had to believe it. Jack needed to be able to tell Masters truthfully that Carter had iced him out. Their little betting war might not be enough to convince him that they were on the outs, especially if she was treating him like the partners that they once were.

"What part of 'this case is closed' do you not understand, Carter?"

"The same part where I do not understand why I cannot question Dottie Underwood about her interests with the Arena Club," she snapped.

"As I hear it, the Justice Department wants to question her for more important matters," he explained wryly.

"'As you hear it'? That source wouldn't happen to be Masters himself, would it?" Sousa challenged.

He accepted the challenge and snapped right back, "And is your 'source' a certain _Rosy bird_?"

Sousa clammed up at that, but Jack knew it to be truth. Upon watching Johnson roll over like a well-trained Poodle, Rose had in disgust applied to be transferred to L.A. for her 'health'. Jorgensen had approved it, after Jack had informed him what an underappreciated asset she was, except by Peggy and Sousa. Those two, when they did go rogue, would likely turn to her for assistance.

Out of curiosity, he asked, "Where are those newspapers?"

When Peggy informed him that she had to leave them behind, he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

He wanted to put his fist through the wall when he heard that Peggy had risked her life to plant bugs and it was all for nothing.

He was terrified for her – she was going up against men who could rig elections for Christ's sake! – and he was so frustrated at the fact that he could not be there to watch her back, that he went too far in his attempt to dissuade her from plowing ahead like a bull in a china shop and said something that he shouldn't have.

"God, you are so hell bent on clearing your pal Wilkes! I think your emotions are clouding your judgment."

The hurt in her eyes, the betrayal, it made him feel as if he had stabbed himself in the gut. But when she retaliated, it felt like she had pulled the knife out and shoved it right into his heart.

"You're being a coward! You are so afraid of ruffling powerful feathers that you're doing what you always do... Burying an ugly truth and hoping someone will pin a medal on you."

To keep from saying something that would be irreparable when all this was over, he pushed himself off the wall and strode for the door, declaring coldly, "We're done here."

~A~

"You're here late," Jack noted in surprise, as soon as his eyes alighted on Sousa rifling through the file cabinets.

He had no room to talk really. He had clocked out hours ago, but he was too keyed up to go back to his apartment, especially knowing that Carter was running about town doing God knows what. And after their little spat, he couldn't expect to be having any more friendly break room chats, at least not in the near future.

"Yeah, early bird's got nothing on the night owl," Daniel dryly commented.

There was something in his remark that was off – he was _too_ casual, _too_ polite. Sousa never passed up on opportunity to needle him, and he was avoiding eye contact.

"Let's see what you have here," he snatched the file from him like he would have from a younger brother, if he had a younger brother. "Agnes Cully, Broxton, Oklahoma... Sounds interesting."

"Almost." Daniel hastily explained, "She's a former nurse of the plastic surgeon's,"

Lie.

It was a Pinocchio-worthy falsehood. Jack instinctively knew it, and it didn't take much detective acumen to surmise that this woman was somehow connected to the 'closed' Isodyne investigation.

Jack didn't call him on it though, handing the file back disinterestedly. Probably with too much disinterest, as Sousa was eyeing him with suspicion.

So to throw him off the track, Jack got personal.

"You and Carter seem to have gotten… _close_ … since coming out west."

"We're friends, Jack."

"Just friends?"

That question was supposed to be teasing, like an older brother would rib a younger one, but it came more across as intimidating, like a beau to a rival.

Daniel sensed it and laughed nervously, "I don't know where you get your ideas. As a matter of fact, I'm seeing someone."

That took him by surprise. The boy had taken ages to make a move on Carter, but he had been out here only a few weeks and was going steady with someone?

"You're kidding me. Really?"

"Yeah. She's a nurse at the rehab center I go to for physical therapy."

There were so many things he could say to that, like – 'oh, she likes to play nurse, does she?' or 'so that explains the shirts…she's trying to make a native out of you'. But he was genuinely happy for the man, so he simply said, "Yeah? Well, good for you."

"Thank you," Daniel stated awkwardly.

Jack could tell that the man wanted to get back to his research, so he said, "Maybe sometime, when you want to do what real night owls do, you'll come and have a drink with me and tell me all about her. Maybe we can try out that Frolic Room I've heard so much about."

It took all he had not to laugh at Sousa's 'I-would-rather-crawl-across-hot-coals-naked' expression as he haltingly agreed, "Uh, yeah, sure. We'll do that sometime."

He took pity on him though, and ended their conversation with, "Alright then, happy hunting, Sousa," and headed towards the door.

And though it was said nonchalantly, deep down he truly meant it.


	29. Fiction Can Be Rewritten 2:6

**Moments**

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** some lines are original to the series and not my own

Anywho, Enjoy!

* * *

 **Fiction Can Be Rewritten**

 **2.6**

* * *

Jack stared at Dottie Underwood's bound, gagged, and unconscious form lying on the Persian rug of the Arena Club's floor, and he sent up a silent thank you for all of those hours sparring with Peggy under Theodore Clifford's tutelage.

He would have never gotten the drop on her otherwise.

His reverie was interrupted by Vernon finishing his Big Boys' conference in the Club's inner-sanctum and looking as if he had just got done sucking on an extra-sour batch of lemons.

"Really a great job of cleaning up the mess you made," Vernon sneered accusingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked defensively. Hadn't he just reacquired _the_ infamous Dottie Underwood – single-handedly mind you? Didn't that deserve at least some kind of 'Atta-boy' around here?

"This is your girl Carter. This whole fiasco's got her fingerprints all over it," groused the old curmudgeon.

His father's buddy had to be slipping into the early stages of dementia or senility. Not only was Carter not 'his girl', but Carter was no traitor. Hadn't she just gotten done proving that last year?

"I think you got this mixed up," he protested. "That was Underwood that we just – "

"Underwood was sprung with the help of a female psychiatrist. Who else besides Carter would be so reckless as to let that nut case loose on this party? You said yourself that you saw Stark's butler here, acting fishy. Well, we all know that those two are thick as thieves…"

As the man continued his rant, Jack tried to sort it all out. It just didn't make sense. Peggy and Dottie colluding with one another? If she was what was the point? What the _hell_ had she gotten herself into?

He must have said some of this out loud, because Vernon dismissed his concerns with an ominous, "It doesn't matter. You're gonna have to take her out."

Everything in him went ice cold as he was filled with horror. His 'mentor' had just ordered him to kill his partner, the woman he –

"I'm not gonna kill Peggy Carter," he scoffed between clenched jaw muscles.

"Who said kill? That would be wrong... Both morally" Vernon asserted (that part not very convincingly), "and strategically" (that part much more convincing). Killing her makes her a martyr, shines more of a light on her..."

While Masters outlined his plan to ruin Carter's reputation, Jack struggled to find a way to dissuade him from basically blacklisting Carter from the field that was her calling, or at least for him to find a way to not have any part of it.

But all he could come up with was a hesitant, "Well, that presents a whole new set of problems."

Which was really dumb. Now Masters knew to look for some dirt on him.

So he tried again, "Carter's a girl scout, sir."

"If you can't find a way to take her down... Then I have to question whether you're suited for high command in this government."

Ah, there it was – the masterfully played long-game of Carrot-and-Stick.

This whole time he had thought he was making headway into the inner-circles of the 'Council', being introduced to men like Chadwick. When in actuality the wining and dining – perhaps even that cute blond at the bar earlier tonight (who could not hold a candle to a certain brunette) – had all been the carrot of Masters' manipulation of him.

He couldn't _not_ take this assignment, not only for the sake of his and Samuel's case against the Council (and he guessed Peggy's now too), but also for her sake. If he didn't do it, then Vernon would just send someone else, and then there would be no way he could warn Peggy.

With an unhappy scowl (that he hoped Vernon interpreted as him not liking being on the wrong end of the 'stick'), he asserted staunchly, "There is no question, sir. I'll get the job done."

As he was being escorted out, he saw Vega and Blackwell being escorted in and heard them being instructed to take "Underwood to this location". 'This' could only be a written address.

He was disappointed in Vega and Blackwell for being Masters' stooges but not surprised. If he had to pick any one of the SSR agents on his team to be dirty, it would be them.

The bright side was that since they were on his team, he could keep a better eye on them and their activities, and possibly find out from them where Underwood's new home was to be.

Thinking of Underwood made him again wonder what in the hell Peggy was in to and if Sousa was even capable of reeling her back in when she went off the rails.

~A~

Peggy's breezy "Oh, this is unexpected" pulled him from his reverie.

While he had been cooling his heels, waiting for her to grace him with her presence, he had been doing his best to strategize the best approach to take with her. The problem with that was – no one can know with Peggy.

"Sorry for the hour. Hope I didn't wake ya," he apologized insincerely. Perhaps, if she knew that he knew what she had been up to, then she would let him in without him blowing his cover.

"No, I'm an early riser."

But no, it appeared that they were going to play the game.

"That's funny. Sure looks like you're coming off a long night," he lied.

It was a lie, because he knew Peggy's 'long night' looks. Her right eye-lid drooped a little. Her shoulders lost their rigid military ready posture, and they sagged a smidge. She rubbed her neck too. Peggy did none of these things now.

Carter's eyes were dilated, her shoulders were tense, and her hands were protecting her side, as if she was safeguarding her robe from slipping. But if that were the case, she would have been fiddling with the sash.

No, after hours of sparring with the woman, he would recognize this look anywhere. This was Peggy's I-am-in-severe-pain posture. Peggy was injured.

"Oh," she chuckled dismissively, before going on the attack. "Your charm knows no bounds. It's a wonder you're not married yet."

He wanted to shake her. Not for her insult about his lady-killer ways or recent lack thereof, but with how reckless, she was being with her very life.

He didn't shake her of course. (He had no idea if that would do her even further harm). But he did begin his interrogation of her, in the hopes of letting her know that her clandestine activities were on Masters' radar.

"You ever heard of a Dr. Katherine Wexford?"

"I haven't. Who is she?"

"You know her. I think she's someone _very_ close to you."

"I knew a Katherine Hornstock once, but we weren't that close."

At that, he had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh at – well – her cheek.

Walking up to her, invading her space, he admonished, "I know what you're doing, Carter". And he did, and all it was going to get her was a ruined career or an early grave.

Not liking his tone, she challenged, "Is there something I can do for you, Agent Thompson?"

"I'm on a flight to London at 4:30. Come with me. You can see your family. Isn't your niece walking by now?"

"She's talking actually, and sorry. I can't do that," she refused shortly, most likely incensed that he tried to use her family against her.

"Don't do this," he pleaded. He hated to beg, but for her he would.

"Do what?"

"You're chasing bogeymen down into a pit of quicksand," he warned. "Please, just get on this flight with me. Leave all this behind. It's okay to be wrong from time to time."

As soon as he said that last bit, he knew that he had lost any of hope of flying away with her to relative safety. But that wasn't the end goal, was it? Although he _wanted_ desperately to do that very thing, he and Sam _needed_ her to continue blazing on ahead. He hoped at least with just more than a tad bit of caution.

When he heard her say that she was willing to bet everything she had on her gut, he had to walk away.

But not without giving her one final warning and one (hopefully) not-so-final wish for success.

"Yes, you will. And when you do... You'll never see it coming… Good luck, Peggy."


	30. Fiction Can Be Rewritten 2:8

**Moments**

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** some lines are original to the series and not my own

 **A/N:** Warning - there be angst ahead

* * *

 **Fiction Can Be Rewritten**

 **2.8**

* * *

 _"Jack, this is of the utmost importance. What is the last thing that you remember?"_

 _"I was…"_

He remembered too much and too little.

He remembered Sam calling him while he was in London to let him know he had been temporarily put on leave after being attacked by so-called 'burglars' that "stank of Aqua Velva", of him being replaced by Masters as the L.A. chief, and of Master's first order of business – suspending Sousa for insubordination.

He remembered having drinks with Nick Driscoll and seeing the words 'civilian massacre' connected with 'Agent M. Carter'.

He remembered feeling betrayed. He had trusted Peggy Carter with his darkest secret, and she had acted like an Angel of Mercy, absolving him of guilt for at least keeping it a shameful dirty secret. And it was no wonder that she could do that, for she was guilty of far worse crimes. _Captain America's girl,_ she who should have been above reproach, she who was the last good thing in this dark world of backstabbing ladder climbers had innocent blood on her hands.

He remembered confronting Peggy and being infuriated at her flat out denial and accusation that he had been bamboozled by Masters. He was so sick of the he lied-she lied game. He wanted the truth.

He remembered catching a glimpse of _his_ Marge, when Peggy called after him: _"Jack, you don't need to cut corners to get ahead. You're better than that."_ Oh, how he missed _that_ Marge.

He remembered Masters rebuking him: _"_ _Jack, what's happened and what's true are two different things. Now, this is an official document. That means it's true, regardless of what happened."_

He remembered being sent out of the office, like a child, so Masters could speak with… a woman. But what woman?

For the life of him, he could not recall, but he did remember at the time thinking that perhaps he had already been undercover too long to doubt Peggy's integrity like that.

He remembered…

 _"I was on the phone."_

~A~

Whatever Vernon had zapped him with was causing him to have the worst headache. It pounded more than a tequila bender hangover. And considering his epically abysmal reactions, both in college and on leave passes in boot camp, that was saying something.

But what hurt worse was finding out that Peggy didn't trust him.

"Let's hurry up. Or do you need me to load your weapons, too?" he smirked at them, almost happily. He was back with the team. Never before would he have thought to be thrilled at partnering up with Sousa.

The smirk rapidly slid off his face when the two of them cornered him with guarded expressions and shut the door.

"Why don't you stay here in case we're wrong and Vernon returns?" Sousa suggested logically, but like one trying to justify benching the unwanted rookie.

Jack glanced disbelievingly between the two. "You have got to be kiddin' me. Don't you trust me, Danny boy? I'm hurt."

"You don't have the best track record," Sousa argued.

"Your backup is a lab tech and a butler. If I were you, I'd take all the help I could get."

He looked to Carter for support, or at least a voice of reason. She knew him. She couldn't believe that he would still side with Vernon. She was smart too. She had to have known, or at least have suspected, that he had been working a different angle.

"Two hours ago, you were using a redacted file to frame me," she pointed out indignantly.

So much for that. Apparently, she didn't know him, nor was she as smart as they thought she was.

"And twenty minutes ago, I was having my brain zapped. If I were helping them, I'd be on my way there. But I'm here with you." He would have left it at that, but he was more than a little peeved at their lack of faith in him, so he added self-righteously, "And for the record, I couldn't have continued to be Jorgensen's mole if I refused to play along with the frame job."

Daniel stared at him flabbergasted, "You and the chief ...?"

But Peggy looked as if he had just punched her in her wounded side, as she gasped, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Not really having the time to give her the full explanation (while she might be able to keep up the charade publicly, privately she would ask him for information and/or help in her madcap schemes and he had not been able to guarantee Samuel that he would be able to resist her charms), he gave her the much abbreviated version.

"I, unlike you, follow orders, even when I don't like them." Not being able to stand the look of hurt in her eyes he added brusquely, "Let's go."

He thought they were right behind him, but when he reached the elevator to find out that they were having yet another private little chat, he stealthily shuffled back to use his freshly honed eavesdropping skills.

Unlike the proverb, he didn't overhear anything about him. But he still felt as if he had been kicked in the chest by a Carter-sized boot.

 _"…_ _We need to be dispassionate about this."_

 _"Meaning what?"_

Yes, Danny boy. What ever could you mean?

 _"I know you and Wilkes are close."_

 _'_ Close'? As in…? Wait. Isn't Wilkes' atoms one with the universe now?

 _"Are you... suggesting that my personal feelings might interfere with the mission?"_

 _"I'm just saying... We might have to make some hard choices, okay?"_

So diplomatic, Agent Sousa. No wonder she thought she could bust a Russian spy out of lock-up and steal uranium rods from who knows where without any consequences.

 _"Well, that's wonderful advice, Agent Sousa, and I hope you yourself abide by it."_

 _"What does that mean?"_

 _"You are the reason why Whitney Frost is in possession of enough uranium to destroy the city."_

How messed up is it that he wanted to know more about Peggy's 'feelings' than about how they got their hands on uranium rods in the first place?

 _"Excuse... He was gonna shoot you."_

Oh, this scientist is so dead (again) when this was all over.

 _"Yes, he was."_

 _"And I was supposed to just let it happen?"_

 _"'Dispassionate'," Agent. Your word."_

These two were almost as far from 'dispassionate' as they could get. In fact, if they were any more passionate or closer together, they would be kissing. That was totally his and Peggy's shtick. Not cool.

 _"So if the situation was reversed, that's what you would've done? Let him shoot me?"_

Not wanting to hear or witness anymore, he cleared his throat and callously declared, "If it makes a difference... I'd have let him blow you both away. Let's go!"


	31. Fiction Can Be Rewritten 2:9-10a

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** some lines are original to the series and not my own

And I am totally appreciative of the opening they gave me to reference "Coffee" : )

* * *

 **Fiction Can Be Rewritten**

 **2.9-10a**

* * *

Dear God, he reserved the right to say 'I told you so' later.

Without him, Peggy and Daniel would be up shit creek and without a paddle.

First, Jeeves loses his marbles and goes berserker on what was likely a suicide mission if Peggy hadn't chased after him.

And then this so-called scientist goes to pieces mid-mission. Who the eff was this guy? To not know that you are to do what Peggy says in a crisis? _Come on_. This is why you don't take lab-rats out into the field.

Lastly, if it weren't for him and his masterful conning of Vernon and his goons, Daniel and Samberly would be either drinking their urine or getting their guts pecked out by vultures.

But most importantly, Peggy would have been turned over to Frost as a bargaining chip as soon as she strode in and pummeled Vernon's ass.

Seeing Marge beat up the old man on his behalf (and yes, Sousa's too) had warmed the cockles of his heart, but as he watched her eye the bastard with suspicion, his stomach began to churn with anxiety.

"What I'm speaking about is this man. I don't know about you, but I'm not in the habit of climbing into bed with snakes."

No, she was in the habit of poking them with a stick. But this was neither the time nor the place to tackle that particular battle. He needed Vernon to want to keep the status quo of mutual blackmail on the table, so he quipped:

"I couldn't care _less_ who you're climbing into bed with."

She didn't rise to the bait, which was a pity as it was good material, but continued to poke, poke, poke.

"Let's say this works. We fix this device and then Vernon stops Whitney Frost with it. Then what? How do you think his priorities will change? He'll be after us the very next second."

Vernon's self-defense was Oscar-worthy, so convincing even that with only an earnest nudge from Sousa, Peggy agreed to back off.

Jack knew that this was only a temporary truce. The man meant every word, but he also knew that Vernon would just wait until they all relaxed their guard before arranging some kind of 'accident'. He was the kind of sneaky bastard who tended to strike preemptively like that.

Jack also knew that Peggy would circle back to the 'snake', ensuring that she would be the first on Vernon's list.

All of this meant that one thing – he _had_ to make a deal with the devil.

Even if it meant that he would have to risk his life by coming within black-goo-shit distance of the volatile Whitney Frost.

~A~

 _"Be careful." Peggy cautioned. "Zero matter doesn't tend to listen to silver tongues."_

Ha, if she only knew.

"I must say, I almost didn't believe Chief Thompson. I really thought you were smarter than this, Vernon."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, Vernon. Change of plans," he insincerely apologized as he held a gun on his one-time mentor.

He wasn't sorry or remorseful at all, nor did he suffer any moral quandary pangs about being an accomplice in this man's demise.

In fact, in a sick twisted way, he derived satisfaction from seeing the look of betrayal on the manipulative bastard's face.

The man had sent his Chief and friend to the hospital, had suspended the straightest arrow in the SSR since Captain America, and had threatened to torpedo his partner's career and her life – all to save his own neck. And even if it hadn't been at Whitney Frost's orders, he still would have done it on the Council's.

No, to save them all, to save Peggy, he would let Frost have her wicked way with him and sleep soundly tonight.

~A~

'The road to hell is paved with good intentions', that is what his Gam-Gam always says.

Thank God, this shitstorm was going to be classified up the wazoo. Or else, she would be able to reserve the right to say 'I told you so', which was not something she really ever needed to do.

Here he was threatening to set off a bomb, while Peggy Carter, his once-upon-a-time partner was holding a gun on him, threatening to shoot him, all the while yammering about 'innocents' and 'justice.'

Innocent? Wilkes? Not in his book. Aside from being a vessel for otherworldly evil, the man had held a gun on her. (The hypocrisy of that did not escape him, but then again, he never claimed to be an innocent.)

Some of what she was saying was getting through to him though, as was that utter look of betrayal, the one that promised him that if he did this, she would never forgive him.

But he was so amped up on fear, that it didn't matter.

He knew it was fear. He had been scared when Vernon had ordered him to dig up dirt on Peggy, when he saw the power and reach of the Council, when he saw the film on what Zero Matter can do, and now even more so when he saw the crazed darkness in the once shining Hollywood star.

Daniel was right. Peggy couldn't be dispassionate about Wilkes, and Jack could admit that right now he was in no way capable of being dispassionate about her or the entire situation – despite what a cold-hearted bastard he might seem.

However, perhaps his inability to be 'dispassionate' would save the world.

 ** _Boom!_**

 _Shit. Shit. Shit. So much for that._

~A~

It had been a nightmare.

Piles of rubble, bodies buried underneath, and black space goo creeping, crawling, rippling towards…her.

The she-witch had sucked up the space goo like a sponge, a hoovering sponge. And then she had begun to haltingly stalk after them like a marionette with broken strings.

For the rest of his days, he would remember that and her shrill voice echoing in his head promising to find them.

He had been ever so grateful for the timely arrival of the British chauffeur and smug bastard millionaire. He couldn't have stomached it if she had finished her threats with a cackling 'my pretties'.

But no bullet, no bomb, no Bentley (or Stark-equivalent) was going to put down that bitch for good.

So what the hell would?

Thankfully, that was not his problem.

He would leave that in the ever capable hands of Carter and her pack of lab-rats.

Meanwhile, he and Jorgensen had the onerous task of cleaning house.

While he felt terrifyingly helpless when it came to Whitney Frost and her world-devouring space goo, when it came to beating confessions out of people (or in Vega's case only looking at him funny), that was right up his alley.

And so were, apparently, dinner orders.

"Okay, look, I'm not a scientist, but I'm here to help."

"How about ... collecting the dinner orders?"

He knew when she asked that of him, barely concealing her challenging smirk, that he was indeed still on her shit-list.

"You know what, Marge? I'm gonna do that for you."

He also knew that his ready acceptance was his way of groveling.

He could only hope that her slightly amused smile had meant that she was on her way to forgiving him, someday.

Thank God for the intervention of Wilkes' less-than-spontaneous combustion.


	32. Fiction Can Be Rewritten 2:10

**Moments**

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** some lines are original to the series and not my own

 **A/N:** final installment of Season 2 AU. Regular _Moments_ -verse programming will commence after a short break (because my Muse just won't shut up about these two).

Anywho, as always...Enjoy!

* * *

 **Fiction Can Be Rewritten**

 **2.10**

* * *

"Four corned beef on rye, uh, two egg salad on white, and... ugh... one pickled-herring salad."

"And one pastrami melt with mustard," Jorgensen interjected as he limped in.

Jack added to the order, promising to come and pick it up rather than having it delivered, just as both he and Samuel noticed Vernon Masters' case.

He hung up and went to reach for it, but somehow his injured chief beat him to it.

"So what did Vernon leave behind?" he asked curiously as his friend rifled through the case.

"Looks like case files, including the one that you found about Carter," Samuel noted, pulling that one out and setting it aside, before both of their eyes landed on something shiny.

It was the Arena Club pin.

Jack reached in and pulled it out to look at it closer.

"What could possibly have been so fascinating about this that she would risk– ?"

"She?"

"Yeah, she. When I called Ramirez to get the lowdown on their big Underwood bust, Rick let slip that the object Dottie had been after was this pin," he explained thoughtfully. There was something about it that reminded him of…He could not recall exactly what, but he gave it a careful twist.

And out popped two prongs at one end.

"So it's a key too, huh?" Samuel mused.

"I guess," he mused with a shrug, as he went to give it to his chief.

But Jorgensen backed away, and snagged the case and the redacted file. "Oh no, I got my hands full with these," and then with a cheeky grin added, "And from friend to friend, I think it would make an excellent apology gift for Carter."

Jack shot his 'friend' a dirty look, but pocketed the pin/key anyways.

He would find a quiet moment, (or as quiet of a moment as could be had around here these days), to have that kind of conversation.

~A~

"You sure she's coming?"

"She'll come. I know it in my gut," Peggy answered him confidently. He was envious of that confidence. He always wondered what she had to go through to gain that kind of self-assuredness. Or was she just born with it?

Glancing around, he decided now was a good of a time as any, and took the plunge.

"And what's your gut telling you about me? I'm just wondering how quick I'm gonna have to clean out my office once this is all over."

"What are you talking about?"

Her obvious look of confusion gave him a sense of hope, but he marched on anyways, "You turning me in for what I did to Vernon."

"What?" she laughed in genuine surprise. "I'm not gonna do that."

He scoffed, "I've been riding you since you took this case, not to mention your little speech about justice, and you're telling me you're just gonna let it slide?"

She tilted her head to the side and slyly smirked, "Well, I wouldn't say that. I did threaten to shoot you."

"Yeah. I remember," he chuckled.

He remembered wishing desperately that Carter was not so good at poker and that he had been observant enough in all of their time as partners to learn all of her tells. But Peggy would always be a mystery, like the Mona Lisa or, when her guard was up (more than normal), like the Sphinx.

"It's not your fault entirely," she continued her voice going soft with kindness, with a shrug she added, "Between Vernon's promises of advancement and Jorgensen's of glory, and the fact that he ordered you to keep me in the dark about your role in this investigation, it's no wonder you struggled with knowing your up from your down."

He didn't protest her assessment; for while, thanks to Jorgensen, he may not have been enthralled with Vernon's promises, he had been with the idea of being the point man on the case that busted wide open the corruption ring that was the Council. And the idea of him doing it without Carter's help may have been a small part of why he didn't tell her what he was up to.

Instead, he quipped, "Don't get so sentimental. I might cry."

She rolled her eyes at him, "Fine, I won't. So hear me now. The next time you feel the need to find a 'permanent solution' to my political enemies – don't. You're a good man, Jack. I know that, and I'd hate to see that go to waste."

Shit. Didn't he just tell her not to get sentimental?

"I have something for you." He reached into his inside pocket, pulled out the pin/key, and held it to her. "I found this in Vernon's briefcase."

"The Arena Club pin. I've seen them before."

"Mm." He twisted the pin, giving her a little demonstration, "It's also a key."

She reached for it eagerly, like a kid in a candy store, and asked curiously, "A key to what?"

"Guess we'll just have to figure that out," he declared with smug satisfaction. They had a shot of being partners again.

Testing the waters, he asked plaintively, "You weren't really gonna shoot me, were you, Peggy?"

At her sharp inhale and teasing smirk, he got the answer to his _real_ question. All was forgiven.

"Just forget it…I don't want to know."

~A~

He did want to know what deities he had pissed off or law of superstition he had broken to make this case an impossible rollercoaster of highs and lows.

One moment, he was tucking a Zero-Matter-less and handcuffed Frost into the back of his car.

The next, Howard Stark's radio controller is not working and there is no way to shut the rift.

One moment, he's getting the courage to volunteer for a suicide mission.

The next, he was awkwardly holding onto Howard Stark so that Peggy wouldn't be filled with a Sousa-sized hole of devastation in her heart.

One moment, he, Daniel, and Peggy were finishing the last of their case reports with an air of camaraderie that he had not expected to ever experience again.

 _"_ _Look, I... got to say something to you about what happened at the rift."_

 _"_ _Oh, there's no need to thank me."_

 _"_ _Uh, actually, I was gonna say you messed up."_

 _Jack may not know all of Peggy's tells, but he had been playing poker with Sousa long enough to recognize that suppressed grin anywhere. Daniel was up to something._

 _Not wanting to miss out on the fun, he declared with equal seriousness, "I got to agree with Sousa. You messed up big time."_

 _"_ _Sorry, what?"_

 _"_ _As your ..."_

 _Daniel looked to him for – assistance? permission? He didn't know, so he supplied as helpfully as he could, "'friend',' colleague', 'comrade-in-arms'?"_

 _Not 'partner', that's what he and Peggy were._

 _Daniel gave him a grateful nod and continued, "As your colleague, I feel obligated to tell you your actions were ill-advised – "_

 _"_ _And reckless," he added with a sad shake of his head._

 _Peggy glanced between them in bewilderment and then shrilled in protest, "Ill-adv... Reckless?!" He didn't know her voice could go up that high._

 _"_ _You're damn right," Daniel retorted, "By your own professed rules, you should've allowed me to be sucked into the rift and shut it down, period."_

 _"_ _Is that so?" she challenged with suspicion. If Sousa didn't do a better job at suppressing his smirk, the gag would be up._

 _"_ _Yeah. You talk a pretty big game when it's your life on the line, Carter, but when it's somebody else's…"_

 _"_ _You're a pretty big hypocrite," Jack concluded, with a barely concealed smirk of his own._

 _It was probably the lack of heat to his jibe, or its lack of snarled delivery, that gave them away, because she finally cottoned on and retorted, "Hardy-har-har. Just for that, the two of you are paying for all of my drinks tonight."_

 _"_ _And hear I thought we were celebrating not only our case being closed but also my permanent transfer to L.A.," Sousa declared with a pout._

 _With all of the vacancies from their cleaning out of Vernon's boys, Jorgensen had been happy to take him on, and with Daniel now being known as a whistle-blower, Johnson had been happy to relinquish him._

 _At Daniel's words, Peggy glanced at the clock. "Well, as soon as the Chief gets here to sign off on that, I'll have Jack buy you your first round."_

And the next, Rose is barging into the office, looking beyond distraught, and declaring, "I just overheard it on the police scanners. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard the address and the code. So I called the hospital, pretending to be his older sister, and they said – they said …"

Jack stood there overwhelmed with dread. Sam was late. He was never late.

Peggy however raced over to her friend and guided her to a chair, gently instructing, "Take a deep breath, dear, and start at the top. What did you overhear and what did you find out?"

A few deep breaths later, the woman confirmed his terrifying suspicions – "The chief's been shot."


	33. Red Herring(s)

**Moments**

* * *

 **Red Herring(s)**

* * *

 ** _Several months later…_**

Jack lazily leaned against his pool stick and watched as Howard Stark methodically cleared the table.

He hadn't really expected to win against the brilliant millionaire, but he needed something to do other than be the fifth wheel at the couples table.

Stark was treating the gang to a night at his newly purchased 'pub' in honor of catching the S.O.B. who had shot Jorgensen. Their alive and nearly fully recovered chief had already dipped out to be with his 'special lady friend'. Of the people he cared to associate with, Daniel was proudly introducing everyone to his newly be-ringed fiancé, Violet the Nurse, and Peggy had brought Wilkes the Doctor, whom she was currently holding hands with.

If Samuel wasn't being so cagey about his 'special lady friend', he would ask him if she had any connection to the medical profession too.

"So how was it again that you know the Chief's shooter?" he overheard Wilkes ask curiously. The pool tables were just close enough that he could eavesdrop even over the hubbub of the pub.

"He was my handler back when I was in the S.O.E."

"Wait. You were in the British Special Ops during the war?"

Jack smirked as he lined up for his shot. How did the man think his British girlfriend became so good at espionage?

"Yes, after my brother Michael died, I accepted their commission. I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to do something to make sure my other one came home."

He nearly missed his shot. She had known this guy for a handful of months and was already talking about the Brother-who-was-not-to-be-mentioned. They had been partners for close to a year before she told him of her childhood partner-in-crime.

He missed everyone's responses to that personal bombshell, but did catch, "After I got done with my training, I was sent over to France. Mason Colter was my reluctantly assigned handler. I say 'reluctant' because he didn't believe women had any business in the line of espionage work, so he didn't use me to my fullest potential or trust my instincts."

"Let me guess," Wilkes interjected. "You did what you typically do and found a way to work around him."

Peggy took a moment to answer. Her reply was so soft that Jack was only able to pick up "…more like _he_ found me."

"He? He who?" Violet asked curiously.

Jack moved around the table as if he was trying to find the perfect shot, but it was rather more for the perfect vantage point to see everyone's reactions when she revealed:

"Ethan Grey."

Jack could tell that while Daniel needed to explain to his fiancé who the 'Concierge of Crime' was, Wilkes, whose eyes were wide and his shoulders tense, needed no such explanation.

Peggy was quick to defend her connection to the crime lord as she always was. "Ethan was part of the Resistance at the time and noticed my 'untapped potential' as he put it. He took me under his wing."

"I am confused. Was it your connection to Colter or your connection to Grey that caused you to blame yourself for Jorgensen getting shot?" Wilkes questioned, looking none too happy that his girl had any kind of connections to these men.

 _Buck up, lover-boy. Your girl is an agent. She has rubbed and will continue to rub shoulders with all sorts of shady fellas._

"Both," Peggy answered with a shrug. "He didn't like the fact that I went on unauthorized missions that got results and thus showed him up, so when he screwed up, he chose me to be his scapegoat. It was his signature on that redacted file that he stole from Jorgensen after he shot him."

Mason Colter, who had been a rising star in MI6, had not wanted that incident in question to come to light; so when he learned that friends of Peggy Carter had that file and would likely dig deeper, he went on his own little 'unauthorized' clean up mission.

"Pardon my asking this, Peggy, but how did a British agent, with that kind of black mark on her record, get into the SSR?" Violet asked, proving she was not just a pretty face under that nurse's cap.

Peggy smiled gently at the girl, answering, "Ethan used his connections and got me transferred to the SSR as a liaison. My dual-citizenship helped matters too."

Her fondness for the crime lord was evident for all to see and hear. Wilkes certainly picked up on it, and judging by the tightening of his mouth, he was none too comfortable about it.

Jack knew he had a problem when he both rejoiced at the man's discomfort and, for Peggy' sake, mourned it.

As soon as Stark finished schooling him, he headed over to the bar. Perhaps, a pretty distraction would present herself.

~A~

"Hey, Aloysius, Rose was wondering if you could walk her home," Daniel declared, mercifully interrupting a rather long-winded dissertation on something or other.

The pompous egghead, who had with his incessant chatter destroyed any chances of Jack introducing himself to a pretty distraction, immediately closed out his tab to go and join Rose at the door.

"So did my savior name her fee for being such a noble sacrifice?" Jack queried sardonically.

Daniel shrugged, "Just an I.O.U. to be collected someday."

He merely grunted in response and would have continued to sit in silence, but his gaze landed on Violet as she was saying her goodbyes to the odd couple.

"In case I have not already congratulated you, Danny boy, you have a one-in-a-million girl there."

Daniel snorted, "You have no idea."

That caught his attention. Signaling the bartender for another round, he prompted, "Sounds like quite the story there, Sousa."

And because the man could not resist an opportunity to brag about his girl, he explained, "While Masters was trying to prove that I was involved in the thefts of the uranium rods at Roxxon, she agreed to provide me with an alibi for that night, and she helped patch up Peggy even when she thought I was in love with her."

So it wasn't just him that was detecting the deep connection between the two. That was good to know.

Not one to ever pass up an opportunity for a moment of truth when it presented itself, he asked, "So you're not, huh?"

"No, Jack, I am not," Daniel denied with a sigh, glancing over at Peggy who had her arm looped through Wilkes'. Jack noticed that he looked sad at the sight but not jealous.

"In fact," Daniel mused thoughtfully, "I think she was my red herring."

"You're what now?"

Daniel grinned at him, "My red herring. You know like in serial murder mysteries where it is never the first guy that they suspect?"

At his dubious expression, Daniel elaborated slyly, "Or like how that charming scientist there, is not _Marge's_ ultimate Prince Charming?"

He nearly spewed his bourbon all over the bar. Was the love-happy man insinuating what he thinks, he is?

"Like I said to Violet, I may have a soft spot for Peggy. I may always love her, but I am not _in love_ with her, and have been resigned for a while as to who holds her heart, you know once she wakes up to that fact and all."

Yep, the ridiculous man so was.

Before Jack could protest, Violet walked up and looped her arm through Daniel's, asking teasingly, "Are you two done with your boy talk yet? Because we have a wedding planner to go see bright and early tomorrow morning."

He stared bemusedly after the pair as they slowly made their exit. Violet was a sweet enough girl and clearly had his boy Sousa wrapped around her little finger, but for the life of him, he could not imagine how a man could love Carter and not be _in_ _love_ with her too.

~A~

 ** _Several weeks later…_**

"Peggy, that does not look like the face of someone who is out celebrating the capture of the Chameleon-Maker and his client list," Daniel pointed out as he sat down at the bar next to her.

No, it wasn't. She should be over the moon, but instead…

"I'm just tired," she admitted. Well, not 'just' tired. She was lonely too. It seemed even Jack had someone tonight.

She didn't because Jason had ended it between them. His reasoning had been that he didn't feel like she was prioritizing them. His parting speech ran something along the lines of her _'not making an effort to sync up our admittedly convoluted work schedules_ ' and his ' _not being willing or able to compete with your job...you love it more than your own life and I deserve more'_.

That, and he ' _was going out of his mind with worry_ ' when she did cancel her plans with him for work ' _because I know all too well what kind of danger you get up to...And it is more than I thought I could handle._ '

When Daniel saw what she was looking at – Jack assisting a svelte blond chit with her wrap before 'chivalrously' escorting her home – he declared dryly, "Don't worry, Peg. She's nothing to him. Jack is just being his ambitious self, flattering whoever is the most well-connected girl in the room."

Peggy glanced at him sharply, "I know that. And for the record, why should I care?"

Daniel just gave her a look.

It was a look that she blatantly ignored. Now that Daniel was engaged, he was just doing what all affianced couples do – pair up everyone around them.

He was just a love-sick puppy.

Wasn't he?

* * *

 **A/N:** just as a side note (contains spoilers), I have to confess that my desperate Cartson heart has taken a twisted kind of solace at the fact that while Jack is bleeding out on the hotel carpet, the final line of the song "Oh, But I Do" can be _distinctly_ heard - _'I know that it's you that I love.'_

Grasping at straws, I know. But did I mention desperate?

Anywho, feedback is always appreciated : )


	34. Firsts

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** FYI - contains flashbacks of events prior to my version of Season 2

Anywho, Enjoy! (And kindly let me know what your favorite part/line was)

* * *

 **Firsts**

* * *

Their first kiss was not under a mistletoe…

~A~

 _New York, December 31st, 1946_

"My brothers and I would race to see who could first find where our parents carefully hid our Christmas gifts and then when we were older, we upped the challenge by seeing who could unwrap and re-wrap them without anyone knowing the difference…"

The general merriment and slightly intoxicated laughter of the office New Year's Party went suddenly quiet, as every agent and switchboard operator collectively held their breath.

Peggy paused halfway through her story to Rose to glance around.

She didn't find anything abnormal except Ramirez smirking wolfishly at her and Jack, who had come to stand at her elbow to eavesdrop. What she did find, (which was pretty normal), was Daniel's sympathetic grimace as his eyes darted above her head.

Adding it altogether, she rolled her eyes. To Rose, whose eyes were twinkling with suppressed mirth, she grumbled, "I work with a bunch of prepubescent adolescents, not adult professionals."

She was just going to leave it at that, but then Jack chuckled lowly, "You can't dodge them all." No doubt he was recalling her attempt at the Christmas Eve gala.

"Watch me," she challenged, and then she taunted for all to hear, "I'll kiss Jack, if Ramirez and Palmer follow tradition as well."

The two male agents who happened to be standing under the other hanging parasite blanched. And to the amusement of all, the two began to hastily edge away from each other.

And so the office merriment continued, and Peggy made sure to leave early to join Angie at Times Square for the final countdown.

Better to kiss a complete stranger for that tradition, than blur any lines of professionalism and complicate things.

~A~

Their first kiss was not while they were undercover…

~A~

 _New York, February 14th, 1947_

"You know it would be easier to sneak around this joint, if I wasn't in these ridiculous duds," Jack whined as they shut the office door and made their way to the nearest exit.

He had a fair point, as Jack was wearing crimson canvas trousers tucked into leather laced up boots that matched his deerskin gauntlet gloves, and a pecan-colored gambler's hat. To add insult to injury, underneath his dark brown frock coat, his shirt was diagonally buttoned, welding goggles dangled from his neck, and instead of his usual suspenders, he had double holsters from which two ornately decorated gold and pearl derringers hung. It was not exactly a nondescript outfit per se.

And while he might not like his, she liked hers. All of the brass cogs and wheels and buckles that adorned her knee-high boots, crimson corset, duster, and top hat allowed her to smuggle in tech like lock-picks, camera pens, and mini-tranquilizer-darts, and although her tan trousers were more form-fitting than she would like, they did allow her ease of movement.

That, and it made a stellar memory out of their last mission together before she transferred to L.A.

"Yes, but you and your grey suit, suspenders, and red paisley ties would have never made it beyond the front stoop, and I would have been tossed out by association."

As progress-minded as this secret Steampunk Society was, The Gaslamp was still dominated by men. Women needed to be vouched for, and she and Jack needed to have a look at the guest sign-in logs.

They knew Dottie had been a guest here. She had been spotted by one of Daniel's bums. What they hadn't known was who vouched for her or why she used him to con her way into this fanatic club of romantics. And thanks to this field trip, they did at least now know the name, if not the why.

"We wouldn't need to sneak, if Matthews had managed to maintain his diversion as long as he promised," she huffed with annoyance.

"Well, who would have thought that his level of obnoxiousness could be plumbed?"

Before she could make a waspish comment of her own, the door at the end of the hall began to open.

Time slowed and Peggy considered all her options and chose the one she felt would have the maximum amount of success.

Jabbing her fingers into Jack's chest repeatedly, she shrilly hissed in her best New Yorker accent, "I can't believe you said that about my mother!" _Jab._ "It's Valentine's Day!" _Jab._ "And our anniversary!" _Jab._ "And you forgot both!" _Jab._ "And to top it all off, you say in front of all our friends that I sound like – a _nd I quote –_ 'the harpy that is my mother-in-law!" _Jab._

Just as Jack grabbed her abusive fingers, the club's security officer called out, "Sir! Ma'am! If you need privacy for your – er – _domestic dispute_ , please, take it elsewhere. This is a restricted area."

She and Jack hastily made their apologies and exited out the side door.

As soon as it shut behind them, Jack growled, "What the hell, Carter?!"

Peggy dropped the wrathful shrew act and shrugged, coolly replying, "There are two things that make people highly uncomfortable."

"Oh? And what, pray tell, are those?"

"Public displays of affection and – "

"And what? Public displays of aggressive henpecking?" Rubbing his sore chest, he muttered, "I'd almost prefer the first."

She stopped walking and arched an eyebrow at him, "Almost?"

He snorted, "Yeah, almost. Don't think that I don't know you're wearing that damned lipstick."

"Good. Then quit your whining."

~A~

Their first kiss was not to shut the other up mid-argument either…

~A~

 _Los Angeles, Late Spring 1947_

"You don't have to do this, Marge. You don't have to be a goddamn hero."

"This isn't about me being a hero, Jack. This is about me doing my job," she snapped back.

In no way was she intimidated by his use of his height to loom domineeringly over her. In fact, she went toe-to-toe with him, invading his space as she continued to argue: "I am a woman. He is a plastic surgeon who has _only_ female clients."

Her mouth quirked up a little as she added dryly, "You're pretty, but not even you are pretty enough to fit that criteria."

Jack was not at all amused and growled lowly, "Be serious, Carter! You're pretty too! Gorgeous even. There is no effing way that he will think you want to be 'improved' like some insecure Hollywood starlet!"

Whether it was that unguarded compliment or that primal growl of his, but something tripped the circuitry of her primitive brain, and all she could think about or see were his wide pink lips, that were currently pursed in an unusually attractive grimace, centimeters from her own, and how she wanted to give them something else to do other than grimace at her or scold her, something more pleasantly productive.

Some part of him too sensed the change in her, as his previously scowling eyes were now filling with a different sort of blue fire.

"Peggy! If you're done telling Jack to mind his own case load, we can hit the road!" Daniel hollered from the locker-room doorway, breaking their moment.

She grabbed her clutch and strode for the doorway giving him a stiff nod and murmuring, "I'll be careful, Jack."

As the door shut behind her, she heard him mutter petulantly, "It's not you I am worried about. It's all the other crazies and evil sons-of-bitches out there."

~A~

Nor was their first kiss so cliché, that it was after a near death experience…

~A~

 _Somewhere in Germany, Early Summer 1947_

"Peggy!"

"Peggy!"

"Carter!"

"Goddamn it, Marge!"

Whether it was the desperation in his voice, his cursing, or his use of that name that she had a love-hate relationship with, that broke into her trance, she didn't know. But whatever it was, it worked. She jerked her gaze from the ravine floor that they were currently dangling over and blinked away her memories of Bucky to look at him.

He was soot-covered and wide-eyed with barely held together panic, but at least he had all four limbs and was not perforated with any shrapnel.

When he saw that he had her attention, Jack declared, "You need to start making your way to my side of the car or we are going to tip over and arrive at the pearly gates far sooner than I am prepared for."

She nodded her understanding and began to make the slow climb up the cargo-netting, carefully testing how her movements shifted their precarious balance.

If Mason Colter, her former handler, hadn't just blown up the cargo train they were on in order to elude them yet again, and if they weren't just about to plummet to their deaths, she might have quipped something along the lines of ' _What makes you think it's the pearly gates you are destined for?_ ' But that was most definitely not the case.

Eventually, she was able to make it to his side of the car, and with great care, they were eventually able to make it to safe ground.

Once they did though, their counter-balance weight was gone, and so the train car fell to the ravine below.

As she watched its violent descent, she began to feel light-headed and she swore that she was falling too, falling like Bucky did.

The universe did not stop spinning until Jack grabbed her by the shoulders to turn her away from the terrifying sight of that gaping maw to face him.

Her eyes met his concerned blues, and her fear-adrenaline faded. She was hit with this sudden urge to sag against him, lean on his strength, and kiss him. Her body was then flooded with a wave of joyful relief at their being alive, and she again had the absurd urge to kiss him in celebration.

She nearly did. She was leaning towards him, when the next wave of emotion hit her – anger.

"I'm okay…" she attempted to reassure, her voice sounding breathless to her ears. More convincingly, she bit out, "But we won't be able to catch that bastard if we don't get a move on. There's a crossing a few klicks south from here."

Jack gave her a quick once over, before nodding his acceptance, "Alright."

Wordlessly, he shouldered their one remaining pack and followed her lead; at least until a few minutes later, when he asked warily, "Hey Carter? There's not a certain scent in the air that I need to be worried about, for fear of hypothermia or the like, is there?"

She thought about it for a few moments, before answering slowly, "No... but you should know that. Weren't you marching through this patch of German wilderness before you were shipped out to the Pacific?"

~A~

No, their first kiss happened…when it mattered.

~A~

 _Los Angeles, Fall 1947_

"Just give me a moment. I wasn't expecting any company," he admitted almost abashedly.

"I can see that," she observed lightly as she amusedly watched the rumpled-looking Jack – a tie-less, suspender-less, and hair disarrayed Jack – hastily straighten his front room.

"But you don't need to do that, at least not for me," she gently chided, nodding at the files he had attempted to hide (not the dirty dishes he was putting in the sink). "I _have_ been known to take work home with me on occasion."

She ignored his derisive snort at her vast understatement and continued, "In fact, while I was reviewing my case notes, I came across this and thought you would find it helpful."

She handed him the file she had brought with her, and she watched with even more amusement as his usual skepticism gave way to boyish excitement, as he eagerly rifled through the pages, practically devouring them.

With a smug grin, she noted dryly, "I guess, I was right then."

"Right?" he declared flabbergasted in disbelief, "This is… Marge, I could kiss you!"

~A~

His words rang in their ears and one of those life-altering pauses descended.

Peggy knew that she had reached a crossroads and how she responded mattered.

Her moment with Daniel had come and gone before she realized.

She had been more cognizant of it with Jason – his pleading brown eyes begging silently that she promise to always make the safer choice, a promise that she could never make.

A year or two ago, she would have never thought she would be having a moment like this with Jack, of all people.

When she had decided she was ready to move on from Steve, it had been with the expectation that it would be with someone of his quality – someone who saw her and who respected her and her dreams, shared them even. At the time, that had not been Jack, and she chalked up their chemistry as a by-product of friction between two strong personalities.

When they became equals in both of their eyes, she became increasingly attracted to him and _fond_ of him. But she did not want to ruin a good thing with their partnership.

But now, she had to admit that unlike Daniel or Jason, if she was to let this opportunity to deepen her relationship with him pass her by, she would regret it for the rest of her life. The pain and heartache she had felt when he hadn't been at her back – no, at her side – during the Isodyne investigation had been more devastating than she would have predicted.

If she were to close the door on them now, would they ever recover what they once had, much less, ever have the chance for something more again?

So…

"You should."

~A~

 _"I could kiss you."_

As soon as the words left his mouth, time slowed to an excruciating crawl.

From the wide-eyed amazement on Peggy's face, he knew she was not up to the task of witty downplay. But for the life of him, he could not think of what to say to return them to their status quo.

He could not take back the words, and to be honest, he did not want to. It was almost a relief that it was out there.

Almost, if not for the fact that Peggy Carter had his heart in her bone-crushing capable hands.

When he thought he could not take it anymore, two words left her beautiful crimson lips – two words that had never sounded better in her crisp British accent.

 _"You should."_

~A~

Time sped up, in a halting sort of way after that.

One moment, Jack is anxiously searching her face with those deep blues of his and holding that file.

And the next, the file is on the table, and he is invading her space. His eyes still locked with hers, one hand gently cradling her face, and the other hovering protectively in front of his crotch (to guard against any knee-jerking of hers, she supposed.)

His lips descended upon hers in a slow gentle tentative caress at first.

But then, when she didn't resist, he gained confidence and…

And heat began to suffuse and flood her body, especially where he touched her. Heat radiated from where his hand cradled her face and where the other now rested gently on her hip. It radiated from his chest as it pressed up against her. It sparked from where his lips masterfully slid across hers.

There were no fireworks, like those so frequently depicted by this town's cinematic industry.

But in her gut there was a roaring crackling fire, like the kind that had warmed her home on many a cold wintry day growing up.

She hadn't realized how cold she had been before this moment.

But now that she wasn't, she wanted more.

~A~

His Marge tasted divine. Better than he had ever dreamed.

It was all he could do not to devour her before she woke up from whatever spell she was under, and he needed to resign himself to unrequited love once again. So he took it slow to draw out the moment as long as he could. And it was glorious.

He did eventually however have to breathe.

It was when he pulled back though that she awakened and became the partner that he knew.

Her hands fisted into his shirt and he prepared himself to be tossed across the room, as she was so fond of doing in their sparring sessions.

But instead, she yanked him closer and took the lead in their dance.

And he let her, opportunistic man that he was.

~A~

When their kiss finally ended, it was on her terms.

She drew back and gently pushed him away, straightened her clothes, and without looking him directly in the eye, she briskly stated, "If that meant what I think it means, meet me in front of Jorgensen's 'manna from heaven' bakery at 20:00 tomorrow."

And then she spun on her heels and strode out his front door, leaving him staring stupidly after her.

~A~

He of course went.

She was wearing that caramel and black cocktail dress from when they were 'Mr. and Mrs. Baer', and it made him wish that they were 'Mr. and Mrs.' something else right now.

When she saw him, her eyes lit up and she quit nervously nibbling her lip to smile warmly at him.

As soon as he drew up next to her, she graciously accepted his single scarlet rose, before looping her arm through his to lead him a few blocks away to a rooftop, where Chinese takeout was laid out picnic style and a talented saxophone player could be heard from the street below.

Afterwards, he generously tipped the talented bum as he walked Peggy home. It was an act, which (he thinks) earned him one helluva kiss goodnight, and perhaps, a second date.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope it was worth the wait ; )


	35. Stood Up

**Moments**

* * *

 **Stood Up**

* * *

Jack raced up to the restaurant, praying he wasn't too late.

He paused in the doorway, quickly scanning the dimly lit room and adding to his list of prayers that the reason he could not find her dark head anywhere was because of the absurd idea that being forced to squint at your table companion over candlelight was somehow romantic.

But no such luck, which was kind of par for the course this evening.

"If you're looking for the other half of the party of two for Thompson that was reserved for _over_ _two hours ago_ , she left," the very unsympathetic (at least towards him) hostess icily informed him. If the lighting was just a smidge brighter, he was sure he would find her glaring daggers at him.

Shit. If this was how the waitress felt, he was scared to imagine what Peggy did.

He almost wished he got shot tonight. It might have drummed up some sympathy for him.

Then again, this was Peggy Carter. She might just have finished the job.

~A~

He walked out of the interrogation room, only to be hauled into the observation room and shoved up against the far wall.

"You have thirty seconds to explain," she hissed.

He nervously swallowed, but he took some comfort in the fact that while her arms were crossed belligerently in front of her, they were crossed and not prepared to bitch-slap his face.

He also enjoyed the sight of her heaving chest and flushed face.

A fact which she noticed, as she curtly ordered, "Eyes up here, agent, and you now have twenty-four seconds."

"We got what we thought was a reliable tip that the men who are funding _Red Radio_ were having a face-to-face meeting, but when we got there it was clearly a set up and everything went fubar."

She stood there expectantly, as if she was waiting for him to add something else, counting down the seconds as she angrily tapped her very pointed toe.

But he didn't know what she wanted so he stood there in silence.

When his time was up, she strode for the door.

As soon as her hand touched the doorknob and began to turn it, he found his voice enough to call out pleadingly, "Peggy!"

She paused for a moment and then firmly shut the door. With her lips pursed and her brown eyes gazing at him with such sadness, she said, "I know all of that, Jack. What I wanted you to explain is why you didn't call the restaurant and let me know _something._ Anything even."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and admitted pitifully, "I didn't know how to explain all of that to you without the whole office knowing about us."

He knew she wouldn't think that he was ashamed for anyone to know about them as a couple, as it was her idea to keep quiet about it for now. What he didn't know was if she believed him – that his not calling had nothing to do with him forgetting to. Peggy Carter was unforgettable.

She let go of the doorknob and walked towards him. She stopped just short of touching him, standing toe-to-toe with him, just like when they are arguing. But without any of the wrath that he had come to expect with this stance, she quietly rebuked, "Jack Thompson, you are a bloody agent in the espionage business. You could have come up with a code or something to let me know that you were at least alright."

And then it hit him. Peggy was not mad at him because she thought he had forgotten her to get another notch in his career's figurative bedpost. She was mad at him because he had left her wondering if he was dead or alive, just like Steve Rogers had.

Knowing that his Marge would not want words of apology but actions of amends, he nodded his understanding and then bent down to roguishly whisper in her ear, "My I-am-safe word is _'carrot'._ "

~A~

Peggy nervously glanced sideways at Jack, as he sped along the Pacific Coast Highway.

She had screwed up.

They were supposed to be enjoying their first shared Saturday afternoon off, not fighting.

Well, not fighting per se, Jack would actually have to talk for them to do that.

He hadn't been saying anything to her, not when she met him at his flat's garage as previously arranged, and most definitely not now. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard that she could see his veins pulse angrily as they brought blood past his white knuckles. His jaw was clenched so hard that she expected it to crack like granite any minute now, and he was driving faster than he normally would for what was supposed to be a lazy afternoon cruise.

She had screwed up, and worse, she had been a hypocrite.

Last night she was supposed to have met Jack at a comedy club. It was not really her thing, but Jack had wanted her to meet his old Marine Corps chaplain. She had been intrigued at the idea of meeting a priest with a sense of humor and the man who had helped Jack exorcise (figuratively) his demons.

But then a tip had checked out, and 'The Bohemian', one of the Chameleon-Maker's notorious clients had been found. They had had a limited opportunity before the mercenary assassin slipped through their fingers again.

She wasn't sure if it was wise to start this conversation now, but she thought she had better so that she could get him to relax and slow down before he drove them accidentally off a cliff.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she apologized with every ounce of sincerity that she had. "There wasn't a phone within a hundred miles of where we cornered her, and I didn't get back in until nearly dawn this morning."

He didn't say anything, not for several nerve-wracking moments, and then:

"Well, was there a phone then?"

Before she could answer, or apologize again (which is what she had been about to do), he continued as if the floodgates had been opened, his voice practically bleeding with pained anguish, "I was awake all night last night, pacing the floor. I probably won't get my deposit back as the carpet is worn right through. My radio is broken as I took out my frustrations on it. I couldn't call Sousa for an update, because I needed the line free for your call. I couldn't go to your apartment to wait for you there, because I knew – _I knew_ – you were going to call, especially after the hell you put me through when I didn't."

She thought that he might have been done at that point, but then he pulled over to the side of the road, so that he could safely turn to face her. The look she saw in his deep blue eyes hit her like a sucker-punch. It was the same hurt and betrayed look on his face when he thought she was a Leviathan spy, and again when he was confronting her about the civilian massacre report.

With a heavy sigh, he declared, "I know you can take care of yourself, Marge. I haven't doubted that in a long time. I wouldn't have been so out of my mind with worry last night, if I hadn't had the expectation that you would call."

"And when I didn't, you began to imagine all the worst reasons why I had not, because only the worst reasons were justifiable," she empathetically filled in the blanks. As hurt as she was at his suffering and as guilty as she felt for being the cause of it, a small part of her was amazed that she had such power over the man, that most would consider a cynical bastard.

She was even more amazed at the power he had over her. Jason had endorsed similar worries, but she had not been so moved that she would cut off her own hand to prevent him from ever feeling that way again. For Jack, though, she swears she would.

But that was neither here nor there. What was here, was Jack.

So she reached across the divide created by her carelessness and grabbed his hand. Giving it a squeeze, she vowed, "Even if I have to wrestle Joseph Stalin for the use of his phone, I will call."

She held her breath for a heart-stopping moment, and the granite cracked. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in amusement and his eyes regained some of their twinkle, as he drawled, "Well, Marge, that would be far more entertain' and meaningful of a promise, if it was that young fair future Queen of yours that you were threatening to tussle with."

She rolled her eyes and chuckled at his antics, but still earnestly agreed, "Fine, even if I have to grapple with the future Queen of England."

He gave her hand a squeeze back, saying quietly and more seriously, "Thank you," before reaching for the gear shift to pull the car back on the road.

She stilled his hand however, and when he looked at her questioningly, she shot him a sly grin, "We just had a fight. I do believe there is a make-up protocol to be observed."

She waited patiently as he checked his rearview mirror for traffic, but when he let out an unconvincing long-suffering sigh of, "Alright then, for the sake of proto- ", she cut him off by fusing her lips to his.

~A~

 _Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Peggy hung up the phone and counted to seven, knowing that if Jack got the same busy signal she did, he would most likely count until ten like everyone else.

She hastily dialed his number, and then as soon as she heard the connection click, she blurted:

"Bracers!"

 _"Carrot."_

Upon hearing that, she laughed not only in relief but in amusement. Cradling the receiver closer to her, she asked dryly, "So I take it that I am not the only one who missed the opening premiere of Stark's monstrosity tonight?"

"No, I guess not," he chuckled lowly. "Although I cannot say that I am all that much choked up about it. What I am regretting is the fact that I missed seeing you all dolled up."

"You should be. Anna picked out the most gorgeous dress," she teased. It had been a cream-colored silky and frothy number that might have made her look young and innocent except for the way it daringly hugged her curves in all the right places. It made even her mouth water.

"Mmm…That is a pity," he bemoaned. "I would have been there but – "

He stopped partway through and switched tracks. His voice now bright with eagerness, as he declared, "That doesn't matter anymore. What does matter is that I am hungry, and that diner around the corner from you is open at this godforsaken hour and they make a mean pie. So what do you say, Marge?"

She was tired. She was exhausted. It was a 'godforsaken hour' for a reason. All she wanted to do was to crawl into bed, but at the same time…

"Pie sounds good."

~A~

The couple sitting at the back corner booth was not like any pairing that she had seen frequent this joint, especially not at this hour.

The man's blond hair was freshly combed, if not gelled; his face was covered in day-old stubble, his sleeves rolled up and his tie was loose. All of which is what one would expect from someone coming off a long day of work.

The woman though was a paradox. Her dress, which she had mostly covered by the gentleman's coat, was this frothy, creamy elegant number that one would expect to see on the red carpet or at glamorous club. Her hair however looked as if it was long overdue for another round with the curlers, while her make-up looked recently freshened up.

While both had an air of worn exhaustion about them, there was a strange energy that ran between them.

They weren't having an illicit and tawdry affair, like some couples who snuck in here at this hour. They were far too open in their affection for one another. He with his arm thrown possessively across the back of the booth behind her; she with the casual resting of her head on his shoulder. He with his caress of her mouth with his thumb as he removed cherry filling from the corner of it; she with her near constant 'abuse' of him – pinching, poking, elbowing, and half-hearted slapping of his chest.

They weren't young lovebirds either. While they did have the occasional starry-eyed look of new love, they were far too comfortable with each other. There was none of that air of uncertainty or nervous side glances, as a pairing learns the steps to their particular dance. No, these two, who shared quiet laughter and sly grins of those 'in the know' on many an inside joke, had found their rhythm a long time ago.

They weren't a married or engaged couple either though, as there were no rings.

If she was a gambling woman though, she would bet that they would be within the year.


	36. Bar Fight

**Moments**

* * *

 **Prompt from a friend:** "Two words - 'bar fight'"

 **My Brain:** "Ooh. Like in _Firefly_ 's 'Train Job' (which is sadly not mine beyond DVD collection)? Hmmm..."

So yeah, here you go...

* * *

 **Bar Fight**

* * *

 _"Have you taken your lunch yet?"_

"No…" Peggy answered hesitantly, catching a trace of urgency to Jack's query through the garbled connection of their phone line. It told her that there was more to his question than a simple request to sneak a lunch date in during the hectic work week.

 _"Can you get away?"_

She glanced at her desk with its backlog of reports, and then at the clock, and then around the bullpen. Daniel would still be another twenty or so with Dr. Samberly about that autopsy. Poor man drew the short straw today.

"Yeah sure. Where am I meeting you?"

She wrote down the address but not the rest of his instructions, and then gathered her things. To Williams, who was blessedly on the phone and thus unable to ask any questions, she said:

"I am going out to lunch. If Daniel asks, I have my D.I.D. beacon."

~A~

One of the things that Jack both loved and hated about Peggy Carter was that she is game for anything.

Steal uranium rods? Sure, let's make a party of it.

Spring a Russian spy from federal lock-up? That's a terrible no good idea, but let's go for it anyways.

Play hooky at the drop of the hat without an explanation? Why not?

This time, it is a trait that works in his favor, and he is grateful for it.

He was also grateful for the amount of trust that she just demonstrated that she had for him. Without any questions, she agreed to meet him in a less than respectable area of town and to 'lose the G-woman business look'.

As she was doubtfully looking over this greasy spoon/tavern's menu, he was pleased to see that she had ditched the navy pantsuit of this morning for a green floral print sundress, and not the fancy garden party kind, but the sturdy kind that can endure an afternoon of gardening. With as little as information that he had been comfortable conveying over the phone, she had nailed the part and was blending perfectly, probably better than he himself was, in this blue-collar crowd.

After she finished ordering (in her Midwestern American accent) her 'slider and a coke', she quietly asked him, "So does this little impromptu rendezvous have to do with your Darwin studies?"

It took him a moment, but he finally deciphered her code – Charles Darwin was the proponent of the 'Big Bang' theory, and Jack and his team were 'studying' last week's factory bombing.

Last week, the newspapers had reported that a local equipment manufacturing plant, one that had government contracts, had suffered an accidental explosion. The truth, however, was that it had been sabotaged by a well-placed bomb. Their fears were that since the anti-government party that was claiming responsibility did not get the media coverage that it wanted, they would try again, and it wouldn't be on the graveyard shift, when there could be fewer casualties.

"Yes," he acknowledged, and then continued to elaborate within her analogy in case of any eavesdroppers. "I think a few individuals here might know of those chaps who are interested in putting his theory into application again."

She nodded her understanding and then began to 'idly' scan the faces of their fellow patrons, most of who were big burly men from nearby construction sites or who looked to be down-on-their-luck poets.

After a few moments, she casually noted, "You know, this place does not seem to be a favorite of gents trying to impress their sweethearts. Wouldn't one of your fellow _lab partners_ have been a better fit?"

He shook his head, "Anders and his cohorts are too intense. You, my lady fair, while stunning and impossible to ignore, will set them at ease." And just so she wouldn't think that he only asked her here to provide him cover as his eye candy, he added, "And because you have a better eye for detail."

She smirked at him for his over the top flattery, and then in a slightly louder tone (for the benefit of any curious or suspicious ears), she pouted, "And here I thought you invited me just for my company!"

He reached across the table and grabbed her hand, and while gazing into those gorgeous hazel eyes, he declared with all sincerity, "That was a perk too."

Before she could reply, one of the big burly patrons stood up and raised his frothing stein, asking in a deep booming voice, "Do you know what tomorrow is?"

Amongst quite a few rude answers there were a few shouts of "Armistice Day!"

To which, Burly declared, "That's right! Armistice Day, the day that the Western elite declared victory over all and began their tyranny…"

And so he began his pompous and ludicrous speech, spouting so much anti-American/Western government drivel that Jack had a difficult time not picturing cartoon balloons coming out of the man's ass.

He talked of how the World Wars were fought to keep the status quo going – the rich in power, the poor poorer, and the middle class vanishing. He even went so far as to say how Captain America was an example of 'how far the Powers-That-Be in our fascist government will go to stay in power', and then to top it all off, he practically admitted that he was responsible for the alleged factory 'accident'.

That last part sealed the man's fate. Jack was going to arrest that man and thoroughly enjoy questioning him. But as to the manner of his arrest, that was sealed when he badmouthed Steve Rogers in the presence of one Peggy Carter.

"So let tomorrow be an ass-picious day, a day when the common man takes back a little piece of his own!"

While everyone else raised their glasses in toast and then downed their beverages, Peggy glared at him.

Jack didn't know if that glare was for him inviting her out to a lunch where she would have to sit through such an insulting speech to Rogers' memory, for him inviting her to what should have been a nice lunch of simple spying but was in actuality an anarchist rally meeting, or if it was to warn him not to stop her from unleashing her fury.

He suspected, judging by the wrathful flames in her eyes, it was a combination of all three.

Without taking his eyes off of her, he drained what was left of his own beer (without raising it in toast) and then got up to head to the bar.

"Jack?"

"Just feel like another drink," he called out over his shoulder.

When he reached the bar, he signaled for another ale, and as he waited patiently for it, he made sure to jostle Burly who just 'happened' to be standing right next to him.

Burly turned around to glare at him, and his scowl only deepened when he took in Jack.

"You didn't toast. You know, Blue-eyed Blondie, I'm thinkin' you one of them Fascist Aryans."

"And I'm thinking you weren't burdened with a well-developed sense of self-preservation, or you wouldn't risk accusing a Marine who fought those bastards to be one of them," he dryly retorted.

The drunken fool didn't heed his warning however. Instead, he sneered, "Jarhead, were you? A bunch of sailor boys' bitches and silver-spoons' cannon-fodder. If it weren't for that A-bomb, you grunts woulda been wiped off them islands."

At this absurdly suicidal speech, Jack squared off with the man and snarled, "Say that to my face."

Burly squared off with Jack, all six-foot-five of him, and growled, "I said, you are a son of an Aryan bitch and a tool. Now whatcha gonna do about it?"

"Not a damn thing," he smirked. "I just wanted you to face me so _she_ could get behind you."

Burly whirled around just in time for Carter to coldcock him.

And he was down for the count. Hoorah.

Of course, Burly's buddies took exception to this. All were up and out of their chairs and promising death in their eyes.

Jack looked to Peggy as he rolled up his sleeves, and when she gave him her nod of readiness (didn't he say she was game for anything?), he asserted with more stoicism than he had ever thought he would have had for this kind of situation:

"Fine. Let's do this."

~A~

She had to confess that she had been somewhat charmed at Jack using whatever excuse he could to see her.

Not so much when she realized that she was surrounded by idiots.

She had been furious with the man who dared to besmirch Steve's memory, but had truly seen red when the imbecilic audience cheered at his words.

But the biggest idiot of them all was Jack.

To land himself at a rally meeting for the factory bombers with only her for back-up was beyond daft. And then to purposefully pick a fight with the wanker (if _she_ poked at snakes, he pokes at goddamn bears) just because he insulted her lost love…

Well, it was then that she pushed Howard's 'Dumb-arse In Distress' button to call for back-up.

She couldn't be too mad at him though. It had been immensely satisfying to silence that sanctimonious bastard. Almost hilarious, even if it had been with a closed fist.

It had been even more satisfying to have Jack at her back while they launched into a full-on bar brawl – chairs and bodies were flying as she and Jack kicked, punched, jabbed, and tossed their opponents every which way. By the time Daniel arrived with his cavalry, she and Jack were standing back-to-back with over a dozen moaning or unconscious bodies around them with only a few wily opponents to put in their place. God bless, Teddy.

Overall, not half-bad for a spontaneous undercover date. Not that she was going to tell Jack that. No need to make a habit of this or swell up his conceited pretty head any further.

While Daniel's team made quick work of the last men standing and he directed the clean-up, she and Jack went to collect their prize.

As she was slapping the cuffs on the man, who was just now groggily coming to, Jack asked curiously, "How did they know to come here?"

"Howard rigged up a distress beacon. Daniel has the receiver. I activated it when you went to 'just get a drink'."

"I'm hurt," Jack protested as he hauled their perp to his feet. "You thought you would need that?" He left off the 'on our date' part, but it was implied.

Peggy snorted softly, even as she batted her eyes at him dramatically, "You always take me to such the _finest_ and _most interesting_ of places, sweetheart. A girl has got to be prepared."

Jack grinned at her victoriously. She had called him 'sweetheart'.

"Nothing but the best for you, _darlin'._ "

Between the two of them, Loudmouth groaned, "Stop the flirting. I think... I'm ... gonna be sick."

At Jack's perverse and delighted grin, Peggy cautioned, "Buttercup, you go right ahead, but I just want to remind you that it is _your_ car we are transporting him in, and he is looking rather green around the gills."

Jack eyed the man warily, and then seeing that her assessment was correct, he sighed, "As you wish," but his blue eyes flashed with a completely different meaning, one that caused her 'gills' to flush a rosy pink.


	37. Bedside Manner

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** It has been a year (and a few days) since I began this wonderful journey, and I thank you all for your kind and encouraging words.

In honor of this anniversary, I add to this series the sick patient/care-giving partner trope. For what fanfic collection of one-shots would be complete without it? Plus, it's a trope for a reason, right?

Anywho, Enjoy!

* * *

 **Bedside Manner**

* * *

 _Tuesday 1800 hours_

"Peggy! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Officially or the honest to God truth?" Peggy asked even as she barged past him into his apartment.

Jack just scowled at her and held his door open so that she could waltz right back on out of it.

When she continued to set her belongings down, he croaked out, "Peggy, I'm sick, and I'm damn sure I don't want you catching this. So you march your pretty little behind out of here and go home."

"Oh, I did the research," she waved her hand dismissively. "Your contagious period is over. No worries."

She did then march over to him, but only to gently remove his grip on the door knob so that she could shut the front door. When he nearly fell because he had lost his source of support, she sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist.

He scowled at her but eventually gave into the inevitable and let her guide him back to his bedroom. His Marge had it stuck in her head to play nurse in his hour of need. It was romantic in theory, not so much in practice in his opinion.

No man wanted his girl to see him like this – sweaty, snivelly, and shitty-in-spirit.

In a poor attempt at humor as she nervously watched him ease his way onto his bed, she observed, "The real worry is that since I know how bad of a patient you are from when you were shot, I suspect this will be a true test of our relationship – if it is doomed, then this will surely kill it."

He snorted derisively at this, which sent him into a coughing fit. When he had recovered though, he gasped, "Knowing what I know of your bedside manner… Are you sure you won't kill me before we can know one way or another?"

Through the slits of his barely open eyes, he saw her hand twitch, as if she had nearly smacked him but then recalled that would only prove his point.

Instead, she said, "The real reason I am here is that I thought that you would be at the weak-as-a-kitten-but-bored-out-of-my-mind stage and so I brought you reading materials."

Jack was not at all surprised to discover that what his Marge thought as boredom-relieving was evidence inventory, Samberly's jargon-heavy findings reports, and copies of witness statements.

He _was_ surprised to find out how right she was. For her to know him better than he did himself was a little scary.

~A~

 _Wednesday 0130 hours_

Jack slid carefully out of the bed, doing his best not to jostle Peggy awake. All of that hot tea she had made him drink was making his bladder's business of the very urgent nature.

When he was done, he leaned against his bathroom doorjamb to watch her sleep.

She hadn't made herself quite at home in his bed. She had only taken off her shoes and jacket. But he could imagine and hope that one day she would be. Not for the sake of having her less clothed and all that implied, but for the sake of her just _being_ there and _belonging_ there.

Even now the sight of her being in his bed was just so right, that it had to be wrong.

He thought about camping out on his sofa, but he only considered it for a brief moment. He knew his aching head would not be up to her irate reprimands of him, the patient, going through that kind of hassle for the sake of her reputation.

He did, however, go and get her a clean, disease-free blanket and tenderly covered her with it, before crawling back into bed.

~A~

 _Wednesday 0440 hours_

Jack woke again, this time due to feeling hot and flushed.

For a brief befuddled moment, he thought that his fever had spiked again.

But then he realized that it was only half of his body that felt this way. Carter had rolled over in her sleep, and was now not only snuggled into his side, but was also half-sprawled across him, as if she was staking claim to him.

Remembering how stiffly she had lain next to him when they shared a bed as Mr. and Mrs. Baer, he reveled in the fact that she was comfortable enough with him now to let her guard so far down.

And with that note of happiness, he drifted back off into oblivion.

~A~

 _Wednesday 0720 hours_

He woke again this time to see a freshly showered Carter, buttoning up her coat with one hand and gathering up her files to go with her other.

Seeing his familiar scrawl written in the margins of the witness statements, he asked curiously, his voice less hoarse than what it had been yesterday, "So how are you going to explain that?"

It took her a moment, but when she finally caught sight of what his gaze was focused on, she smiled confidently, "Ah, the official story." With a shrug, she explained, "I dropped these off last night and then picked them up this morning, in the hopes that your fevered brain would see something that I did not."

Her smile turned into a smirk when she added, "I will also tell them that you will most likely be back in a few days to be a pain in my arse again. Hopefully, that will keep Connors from continuing to jockey for that position."

Jack grinned at that and the pretty sight of her smirk that she had tossed over her shoulder at him, but then he started to frown. A horrible no-good thought threatened to ruin his morning – this was all too good to be true.

"Peggy?"

Some of his fear and uncertainty must have leaked out into his voice because she came back into the room frowning and asking concernedly, "Yes, Jack?"

How he ever got the courage to admit this he would never know, but he did.

In a raspy whisper that had more to do with his insecurities than it did with his cold, he asked, "Can you check my fever? I wanna make sure I am not delirious and imagining that we passed your little test."

Peggy's tensed-up shoulders relaxed and her frown lines smoothed out, and that would have been good enough for him, but she did one better.

She came over and pressed a warm lingering kiss to his forehead, whispering huskily, "Not delirious. We're good. Now get some rest."

And for once he was able to.

Despite feeling crappy and fevered from the likes of which he had not experienced since his time in the Pacific, he was content and at peace.


	38. The Goodnight Kiss

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** Because I apparently have an obsession with Peggy's _Sweet Dreams_ lipstick, I bring you...

* * *

 **The Goodnight Kiss**

* * *

"When I first met Peggy Carter, my first thought was this random piece of advice that my old gunny used to give my buddies and I before we went on any kind of leave: _'Never let them kiss you on the lips, boys'_.

"It was advice I never really took to heart, but I should have – especially under certain circumstances with Peggy Carter."

~A~

"Goddammit, Jack!" Peggy found herself exclaiming in frustration as she stared at his unconscious body on her doorstep.

One moment, she was thanking him for his 'gracious' offer of a ride home (to 'save her a cab fare' only of course), and the next, he was swooning like a Southern belle in the pictures.

Yes, it was rather unreasonable of her to be blaming him. She was the one, after all, who forgot to wipe off her special brand of lipstick once her sting operation was over – or at any point in the car ride over to her flat.

But then again, he was not awake to argue the point. _And_ if he had just followed the advice of his very wise Sergeant Cobb, or at least checked with her before attempting to steal a good night kiss, then she would not be in the predicament that she was in of needing to lug his woozy arse up the stairs to her flat.

 _'Whining about it is not going to get the onerous task done any faster, Peggy'._

She sighed and then leaned down to sling his prone form over her shoulder fireman-style, praying all the while that her nosy landlady was not around to comment.

~A~

 _A few weeks later..._

Jack woke with an extreme case of cotton mouth, a pounding headache, and a terribly disoriented feeling, while he stared up at a strange ceiling from a plush leather couch.

Normally, he would have chalked this up to a really bad hangover, but for one, he had cut back on his drinking, and for another, the last thing he recalled, he had been on the job.

"Wh-what happened?" he croaked.

From the other side of the room, the soft contralto voice of Peggy Carter drifted over to him, as she dryly instructed, "Just give it a moment. It will come back to you."

He blinked a few times, but the soft light that Peggy was using hurt his eyes too much, so he closed them as he struggled to remember. Slowly it came to him.

...Connors reporting that a few of the suspected Hydra suppliers were going to be at an underground poker game…

...Jorgensen ordering Peggy to go with him undercover as " _those bastards know all of your team's faces"_ and _"they won't suspect a woman"…_

...Peggy in a killer wine-colored dress that hugged her form in all the right places…Peggy's curvaceous and tempting form sitting in his lap…Peggy's warm breath tickling his ear as she giggled while whispering instructions in his ear…

...Him turning his head to tell her how distracting that was…Peggy turning her head at the same time, her lips accidentally brushing his…

"Shit. Your blasted lipstick."

"Uh-huh," she unapologetically acknowledged, and then with an amused huff, she instructed, "Don't worry though. It worked out well in the end."

He raised his head just enough to shoot her a questioning glare.

She paused in her perusal of the desk's drawers to smirk as she explained, "Yeah, your 'low blood sugar' allowed for us to be temporarily left alone in these offices while you recuperate. I've got bugs all over the place."

"Glad I could be of some use," he slurred, as the world began spinning again.

~A~

 _And a month or so after that..._

"I know it is part of the plan, but I do not like it, not one little bit."

"Excuse me? Did you say something, Carter?"

At Jorgensen's question, Peggy stopped muttering under her breath, and said, "No, nothing, sir."

Her chief eyed her questioningly and then returned to his scanning of the streets below so he could coordinate the positioning of his men.

It was her job to keep her eyes on the bait, which happened to be Jack.

Her man had been receiving 'gifts' the past several weeks – flowers, chocolates, and bottles of wine – at both his apartment and messengered to the Auerbach Talent Agency. All were signed with a scarlet lip print, much like the box of exploding cigars at Christmas. Instead of being booby-trapped with pyrotechnics, Samberly reported that each tested positive for poison.

Officially, Jack chalked up Dottie Underwood's fascination with him due to his take down of her at the Arena Club, but they both knew it had to do with his current close relationship with the real object of her obsession – Peggy.

Whatever the reason, Jack wanted to use this to their advantage, so he and Jorgensen had cooked up a plan. Jack left a note attached to a scarlet rose in his mailbox, which stated that she had 'caught his attention' and 'would she like to chat with him over a cup of coffee?'

She had replied with a date, time, and location of the coffee shop that Jack now stood out in front of - The Coffee Lounge. She had also added: _'Bring your revolver'_ and signed it _'Miss Scarlet'._ Apparently, Dottie was a fan of the new Parker Brothers' board game.

Peggy did not find this amusing at all and had only agreed not to hit him over the head and shanghai him to a safe house, if he wore one of Howard's bulletproof vests and stood in a spot that prevented Dottie from getting a clear sniper head shot. But there were so many other ways to kill a man. And she had no doubt that Dottie could name them all and then some.

As they waited for the Russian agent's arrival, the lookouts occasionally called out suspicious individuals:

 _"Check out the woman at two o'clock with the baby carriage."_

 _"Watch out for the lady with the walker…I know she's got grey hair and wrinkles, but isn't Underwood good with disguises?"_

 _"Thompson, female bicycler headed your way from the south."_

But none of them proved to be their target.

And then a bus load of nuns unloaded in front of the café.

 _"How the hell are we to spot her?! They are all wearing those damned habits!"_ were the politest of complaints.

Everyone was in such a tizzy that no one noticed the redheaded, slightly plump waitress who had been buzzing about between tables stumble into Jack from behind.

No one but Peggy.

And she saw it all. Even as she was pelting out the window and down the fire escape, she saw Jack turn around to assess the threat and then his instinctual reaction to lean down and offer the 'poor damsel' a hand up, which the woman used to leverage herself up just enough to grasp the back of his neck to pull his face down to hers.

And even as Peggy dashed across the street like a mad woman, she saw Dottie Underwood plant a kiss on _her_ Jack's lips.

Rage filled her. _'How bloody dare she?'_

And how the soon-to-be bloody woman dared. She didn't remove her lips until Jack had collapsed beside her, and then she was tossing Peggy a smirk even as she was up and bolting down the street into the crowd.

Peggy gave chase, and when she caught her, she never bitch-slapped someone so hard in her life, but Dottie wore her red handprint for hours after her booking and interrogation.

Later, while Jack was nursing a cup of coffee to counter the effects of Dottie's drugged kiss, he asked, "So what did she finally say was the reason for her risking it all? The pleasure and honor of the touch of my wondrous lips?"

"Hardly," she snorted, and then because they were in her flat (yes, she had bought coffee just for him), she sat next to him and nestled into his side. He was here. He was safe. He was well. (Thanks to Samberly having an antidote for Dottie's brand of poison on hand).

"She told Jorgensen that it was 'because she could', and to me, so no one else could hear, 'because, Peggy, you can't have everything, especially not a happily ever after'."

She must have done a very poor job of hiding her shiver of fear at how close she came to that being true, because Jack wrapped his arm around her tightly and gave the top of her head a brief comforting caress, even as he jokingly leered, "Well, that's where she's wrong. If I have to say anything about it, I'll always give you a _happy ending_."

Peggy elbowed him in the side for his lewd comment, before twisting around to face him. "No, she's wrong for another reason."

"Oh?"

"I may not have everything, but," she swore with earnest solemnity, "You will always be mine."

~A~

 _And a few weeks after that..._

"Shit. Oh, shit. I am late. I am _so_ sorry!"

She had thought she had timed the end of her mission well so that she could make it here in time, but she had not accounted for the fact that everyone and their brother would be trying to get out of town at this hour on a Friday. Not only were these Californian drivers abundant, but they were 'more abundantly irresponsible' than usual.

Jack rocked back on his heels as he mock-frowned at her from the front stoop, "Well, you should be sorry. This is a very important date."

She relaxed some at his teasing tone and quoting of Lewis Carroll, but she could still see some anxiety in the tenseness of his shoulders and the fact that his hands were in his pockets.

When she got up to his level, she stood up on tiptoe and breathed huskily, "No time to say 'hello'?"

"Now I didn't say _that_ ," Jack growled before he pulled her to him for a welcoming kiss.

It was the kind of kiss that was toe-curling, anxiety-ridding, and just plain bliss-inducing.

At least until he was no longer holding her possessively to him, but was weakly grasping at her as he slid down her front and collapsed into a heap at her feet.

"And here, I thought True Love's kiss was supposed to wake Sleeping Beauty, not the other way around," Jack's Gam-Gam dryly commented from the open doorway.

Peggy looked at the Thompson matriarch and Jack's parents who stood behind her and heard the hubbub of all his extended family who didn't have their faces pressed against the front windows, and she let out a curse:

"Oh bloody bugger."

~A~

When they were able to grab a quiet moment together, much later that weekend, Peggy attempted to reassure, "Well, the good news is that I think after officially meeting your family by myself while you were unconscious, it will be impossible for me to forget again to remove my brand."

Jack snorted derisively, "The bad news is that my family now thinks I am a narcoleptic. You owe me big for taking the fall, both literally and figuratively, Marge."

Not liking the sound of that, because he had taken a lot of ribbing after he had confirmed her cover story, she nervously asked, "When do you plan on collecting?"

He shrugged before shooting her a wry grin, "Oh probably, sometime when I step in it with your family."

She could feel the blood drain from her face at his words. Not at the idea of him meeting her family, but at the inevitability of Jack sticking his foot in it when he did.

Her family is far scarier than his.

~A~

"And that's the story behind those," Peggy concluded, nodding down at the items that had been accusingly thrust before them at the beginning of this little chat.

"And how _we_ caught Underwood," Jack smugly added, choosing to ignore the items in question.

Their interrogator glanced down and gleefully read again the inscription on the carefully preserved and formerly thought to be well-hidden napkins:

 ** _"I vow to only kiss you & even then only when you are S.D.102 free."_**

 ** _"I vow to never kiss any man, but you, Sweet Dreams free."_**


	39. To Kiss-and-Tell

**Moments**

* * *

 **To Kiss-and-Tell**

* * *

She had been a little surprised to see Jack at the restaurant that she was having lunch with Violet at, as she thought he and Daniel were going to be working on his car this afternoon. But she supposed she could have mixed up the Saturdays, and the deli was not that far from his apartment.

Peggy was even more surprised however when the hostess interjected before Jack could explain, "Mr. Thompson? Ms. Carter? Right this way. Your party is waiting for you."

If this was not ominous enough, seeing Daniel sitting there with his very determined looking fiancé and looking to be a reluctant member of their quartet, if his squirming was anything to go by, certainly was.

After they were seated and the hostess took their drink orders, Violet got down to business and announced, "We – oh, alright then, Daniel – _I_ invited you both here to formally reject your R.S.V.P.'s."

Both she and Jack sat there flabbergasted. She was a little bit more than hurt, so hurt that she was at a loss for words, but Jack at least was eventually able to recover the use of his tongue and voiced her very own question, drawling, "Just to clarify, you don't want us at your wedding, and this is your 'formal' un-invitation luncheon?"

Daniel let out a snort of laughter, but continued to let his future bride awkwardly stumble through an explanation. He at least clearly was not the instigator of this 'rejection'.

Violet on her part blushed a deep red of embarrassment and stammered, "Dear me, n-no! I – we – both want you there. It's just that you can't be going stag. You have to be each other's plus ones."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jack slowly smirk in delight. He would revel in the idea of publicly hamming up being a 'couple', so that their colleagues would think he was intent on making a nuisance of himself, while secretly enjoying the fact that they could do 'couple-ish' things without question.

On her part, that was too much intrigue for a wedding which were inherently always quite drama-filled.

"Erm, that is a rather unusual request," she noted, all the while her inner-voice was snarking, _'More like demand'._ "Is there any particular reason why?"

Violet rolled her eyes and huffed with annoyance, "My mother fancies herself a matchmaker, and if she considers the two of you as eligible singles who aren't interested in dating one another, she will try to match each of you up with other single guests when she does the seating chart for the reception."

"Yes, er, I appreciate you trying to spare Jack and I any kind of awkwardness…" she said floundering for some kind of polite response, but when she saw Violet frown in frustration as if Peggy was not catching her meaning, she asked hesitantly, "Is there anyone you want us to avoid in particular?"

"Or let down easy?" Jack offered in an attempt to be helpful, but he only sounded smug, as if he assumed he would be an in-demand prize.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" the normally sweet-tempered woman cursed. "I don't care about 'awkwardness' or my single cousins. I am being entirely selfish and wanting this to be only mine and Daniel's day, and if everybody is watching you two be miserably separated from each other, it won't be. That also means you need to make it official before my wedding day, so your new item status does not steal our thunder."

Again, she found herself speechless.

Once she got passed her surprise and astonishment about hers and Jack's relationship being known, when not even her closest friends or family did, she was able to understand the reasoning behind the demand of Daniel's fiancé. If she and Jack were getting hitched, she wouldn't want Howard to announce that he had knocked-up Ava Gardner or something equally scandalous.

She could also appreciate and respect Violet's approach of being forthright about her desire, rather than just outing the pair of them at an office celebration like some passive-aggressive females might.

She looked to Jack, who shrugged his agreement. They had been dating each other long enough now that they were probably past due 'becoming official' anyways. So she declared, "Okay, we'll let people know before then. But how did you know?"

Violet glanced significantly at Daniel, who admitted, "I would love to be able to toot my own detective skills here or say 'it was elementary, my dear Carter,' but I really…" He paused and sighed, before sheepishly asking her, "Do you remember when you made me wait on your front porch for you while you grabbed that file that you shouldn't have had in the first place?"

"Yes," she admitted with a glare, refusing to look at the once-again-highly-amused-at-her-expense Jack.

"Well, your landlady accosted me and warned me to be more careful about your virtue. When I asked what she was referring to, she said: 'I saw her carry you up the other night'." And with a dramatic flourish, Daniel whipped out a grey fedora and tossed it at Jack, declaring, "Oh, and here's your hat."

That certainly wiped the smirk off Jack's face.

A sight, she might have reveled at, except for the fact it was her forgetting about her lipstick brand and not collecting all the evidence from the mishap that eventually outed them.

Jack didn't gloat at this fact, but instead eyed Daniel suspiciously, asking, "You've known that long, and you haven't collected on your winnings for Ramirez's bet yet?"

Daniel nodded solemnly and then grinned, asking slyly:

"Speaking of…when did you two finally kiss?"

~A~

They told Jack's family first, (and boy, wasn't that a hoot), but then they decided that their boss should be next.

After giving their Chief a rundown on the status of their current cases (and making sure the door was securely closed), they told him.

"Chief, uh, Sam, we got some personal – or is it personnel? – business to discuss," was Jack's impressive opening line to his friend and their boss.

"Probably a bit of both, I would think, if this is going where I think it is going," Samuel Jorgensen dryly stated, as he leaned back in his desk chair to eye the two of them.

"We've been seeing each other outside of the office on a regular basis," Jack confessed, practically bracing himself as if he thought his friend would unleash the firing squad upon them. It took everything she had not to roll her eyes.

This must have been how Samuel felt as well, because the corners of his mouth were twitching noticeably as he asked, "So you're 'going steady', is that what you are telling me?"

"Yes!" Jack blurted turning three different shades of red, before grumbling, "Dammit, Sam, do you have to make this anymore awkward than it already is?"

Samuel smirked at them, "Why, yes, yes I do. Watching the two of you dance around each other has been all kinds of annoying." More seriously, he added with a sigh, "I am sure there are forms that I will need to have the two of you fill out, protocol and all, but I don't foresee this being a problem as you are no longer officially partners and are of equal rank."

When they didn't do anything but sag slightly in relief, he finally did roll his eyes and make shooing motions, "Speaking of being team leads…Go. Lead. Catch some wise-ass bad guys. Or dumb-ass ones, as the case may be."

They left with great haste, relieved that they had gotten down one of their many awkward conversations. They had at least three more to go.

~A~

They told Rose next, because if Jorgensen knew, then she would inevitably find out next and would be hurt if it did not come straight from them – well, from her. Jack did not want to get in the middle of 'girl talk'.

The SSR gatekeeper responded with a wide satisfied grin and her own slyly asked: "So… when _did_ you two finally come to your senses?"

Trying to hide her annoyance at the fact that everyone assumed their dating to be inevitable, Peggy arched an eyebrow and asked suspiciously, "'When' as in exact date and time of kiss or 'when' as in 'how long have we been dating'?"

"When as in how long of course," Rose scoffed. "I have only been rooting for the two of you since that first undercover mission of yours, _but_ if you let slip the chronological moment of lip-lock, I wouldn't mind knowing that either."

Not taken in by the woman's nonchalant attitude, Peggy protested, "Rose! Not you too!"

It was one thing for Ramirez and the New York boys to bet on her love life, for she would swear that they all had slight gambling problems, but for stalwart Rose to do so as well was a bit much.

Rose shrugged and admitted without shame, "No, but I would like to know who did win the bet. I am the Kiss Bet Commissioner after all."

Peggy stared at the woman quite appalled, reluctantly asking, "Do I really want to know?"

The woman's eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth, as she answered, "Probably not."

~A~

The next two people she told were the two that she had been dying to tell since, if not perhaps the first kiss, then at least hers and Jack's first date – the Jarvises. Mostly Edwin, but she knew that what he knew Anna would eventually know.

She hadn't told either of them before now because she knew that Edwin would struggle to not tell Howard, and she hadn't been ready for one of hers and Steve's oldest friends to know, at least not until she was more certain of her and Jack.

So when Edwin had quietly asked, "Are you happy?", she had been able to honestly and without hesitation declare, "Yes."

Edwin quietly searched her expression, and then after finding whatever he was looking for, he gave her a decisive nod and asserted, "Good enough."

To his wife, he asked, "I suppose, my dear, you will be wanting to call Miss Martinelli?"

"Oh yes, dear," Anna chirped eagerly.

After bringing over the phone closer to them, he bowed out, dryly stating, "Then I will leave you to it. I don't think I can handle the decibel levels. If the windows can't either, please let me know."

~A~

Mr. Jarvis had not been too far off about the windows. They really did shake at her friend's high-pitched shriek of _"Finally!"_

A few ecstatic squeals later: _"So when and where did you kiss? What was the spark that lit the last straw on the camel's back?"_

"I think you are mixing your metaphors, dear," Anna pointed out amusedly.

Over Angie's dismissive ' _Pshaw_ ', Peggy began her tale, "Well, it all started with this file…"

Once she had finished telling her story, Anna asked (probably before Angie could monopolize the interrogation), "So I am curious to know – why him and not that nice Dr. Wilkes?"

Peggy, not expecting this kind of question, took a few moments to consider how best to respond.

While she did so, Angie interjected knowingly, _"She's fiddling with her tea cup, isn't she?"_

Peggy scowled at the phone and then at Anna as she tittered, "Why, yes, Miss Martinelli, she so is."

 _"I thought so. If anyone ever wants to question Peggy about anything, the best way to read her tells is to stick a cup of tea in front of her,"_ her alleged friend observed.

To forestall any other such commentary, she declared, "If you must know, Mrs. Jarvis, I do what I always do and try to imagine growing old with the particular gentleman in question."

"And?" Anna asked curiously.

Being a private person, she would normally not disclose any of this, but as she trusted these two women like she did no others, (not even her own mother), and because she needed to process this out loud for herself, she quietly answered:

"With Jason I could picture us growing old together and having a reasonably happy life, but I couldn't picture it without Jack being somewhere in the background too. With Jack, on most days, it was just him and me, and we would be happy – bickering – but happy. Not even the phantom of Steve could ruin it."

As soon as her little confession was done, Anna reached across the table and gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

And once Angie recovered from her speechlessness, she said, _"Wow, Peg, that was one of the most romantic things I've ever heard, and I have lived and breathed theater as long as I can remember. I hope your Blondie knows what a lucky guy he is."_

Before she could respond to this, Angie asked, _"So if you two have been keeping mum about your relationship for this long, why fess up now?"_

Peggy explained the story of Violet's request, concluding, "But don't worry – I saved the best for last. No one knows as much about this as you do."

 _"How many have you told?"_

"Our chief, Rose because if the chief knows, she will soon too anyways, his family, and you all, but not Howard – he's next on my list," she admitted.

 _"Wait! You've met his family? What are they like? How did that go?"_

At the very memory of that disaster, all Peggy could do was groan.

~A~

Over Mr. Stark's bitter yet urgent instructions on the other line that he challenge _'that Danny chap to double-or-nothing…for when the smug bastard will pop the question'_ , he could hear his wife's delighted giggles and the uproarious tinny laughter of Miss Martinelli.

Jarvis wondered how much wheedling it would take for his dear wife to relay such a humorous tale.

~A~

Much to Violet's pleasure and Daniel's relief (and secret amusement), Peggy and Jack were on their best behavior at the wedding and following reception.

The only time that anyone could say that their relationship stole the limelight from the bride and groom's was when it was time to toss the bouquet and garter – for to the disappointment of many, neither one of them could be found.

At least, not until Sousa's Great Aunt Beatrice went to get her coat from the closet. To hear her tell it, the M.I.A. couple was 'smooching like there was no tomorrow'.


	40. The Sousa Scare

**Moments**

* * *

 **The Sousa Scare**

* * *

"Jack, is something wrong?" Peggy asked as she peered around the corner of her row of lockers.

Jack stopped fiddling with whatever he was fiddling with in his locker to reply shortly, "No. Why?"

There was something both defensive and guilty in the way he was holding himself, (tense and shifty-eyed some might say), that rang alarm bells.

"Oh, I don't know," she replied casually, as she finished zipping up her dress so that she could modestly square off with him. "Maybe, it is because you are dawdling in here instead of going to your morning case briefing." Oh how, he loved to flaunt his leadership skills for any and all to see. Something _had_ to be wrong.

He scowled before firmly shutting his locker door and then admitting, "I don't like it."

"You don't like what?" She asked as patiently as she could muster. When he waved at her outfit – a la frumpy secretary, large bifocals and all – she let out a soft, "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," he grunted unhappily. Not that he was displeased with her outfit per se, but more for what it represented - her plan to go undercover with Daniel today.

They had gotten word that one of the Chameleon-Maker clients was in L.A. and shopping for a feasible private eye, and so Daniel was going to pose as one and their C.I. was going to refer the client to him.

She paused to listen for potential eavesdroppers. When she could detect no one, she relaxed her posture some and asked, "Is it that you think it is too dangerous and a bad plan? Or that I am going undercover with Daniel? Because it is not like I am going as his wife, you know, just his receptionist, and not even the tempting 'sweet young thing' kind."

He laughed softly (with true amusement) at that last bit, before admitting with equal softness, "It doesn't matter how you are dressed. You are always tempting to me."

Jack reveled in her embarrassed blush, smirking at her for a moment, and then more seriously, he stated, "It's not a _bad_ plan, and it has no more risks than usual, I suppose. It's just…" After a moment's hesitation as he struggled to find words, he admitted, "Aside from the fact that you are going to practically be his Gal Friday - just for today mind you, it's the fact that _I_ am not going to be there with you."

She opened her mouth to comment, but had to shut it again as he hastened to explain, "Not that I don't trust you, or Daniel. I just don't like the fact that I am not going to be there to watch your back."

Again, she opened her mouth to say something – she wasn't sure what. 'I will be careful'? or 'I will try to come back to you'?, neither sounded very comforting. But then he had to go and ruin the moment by smirking roguishly at her and asserting:

"It's a very pretty backside after all."

She rolled her eyes and huffed, "Go and do your briefing, Agent Thompson."

"Yes, dear."

~A~

 _Later that evening…_

"Peggy, you need to stop beating yourself up."

He had come up from Samberly's lab to find Peggy barking orders at her team left and right, running them frantic as she tried to find any lead as to where Daniel had disappeared to.

She and Daniel had apparently spent the whole day at their faux private detective office dealing with prospective clients of potential cheating spouses, none of whom were the elusive 'Scarlet Camara' former Red Room instructor and Hydra spy. So Daniel had sent her home, while he finished closing up shop for the night. Peggy had come back when she realized that she had grabbed his set of keys and not hers to find the office in shambles from what looked like a scuffle and drops of blood on the carpet.

In reply to his comment, Peggy scowled at him and snapped with a dismissive wave to their make-shift gym, "So while Daniel is out there – kidnapped by a known sadist – I am to beat up on dummies or spar with you instead?"

"If it helps you blow off steam and not bite off any more of your team's heads, then, yes," he replied calmly, for once not rising to the bait of her condescension.

Some of the fire went out of her at his words, and with a few steps, she was in his space, leaning on him with her dark head tucked into the crook of his shoulder. As soon as his arms were wrapped comfortingly around her, she confessed in a near broken whisper, "I just don't want to have to tell her – Violet – that he is not going to come home."

"We're doing everything we can to bring him home, Peg," he attempted to sooth. It only took him a few seconds after he felt her stiffen in his arms at those words to realize why that was the wrong thing to say.

So he hastily (but still in quiet, calming tones) added, "I know this has got to remind of you Rogers, but, Marge, this is nothing like that. For one, Captain America didn't need a prosthetic leg."

Peggy lifted her head off his shoulder to lean back and peer quizzically at him, "How does that help?"

He shrugged, "I am told that his prosthetic leg is an excellent hiding place for the egghead's experimental tracking device, a lot like Stark's beacon."

She put one hand on his chest to push herself completely away from him, as she accused, "You mean to tell me that Samberly has a tracking device on Daniel? That he can switch on remotely?"

He nodded warily, and before the word 'yes' left his mouth, she was whirling around and charging straight for the door back to the bullpen.

From over her shoulder, he could hear her ask exasperatedly, "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I was giving them time to set it up without you breathing down their necks," he muttered under his breath, as he trailed after her.

"I heard that!"

~A~

 _A few days later…_

Daniel quietly watched Peggy leave his hospital room, before turning to Rose (whom Peggy had practically ordered to be his guard dog) and asking bemusedly, "So how bad was she?"

He asked this partly because he could tell by the grilling that he had just received that Peggy was still upset that he had been kidnapped on her watch.

The Hydra spy had been tracking down a P.I. whom she knew had pictures of her that would blow her operation, and their overly-helpful C.I. had purposefully misinformed her that Daniel was the one she was searching for, which had then resulted in him being taken to be tortured for the location of the roll of film. She hadn't gotten too far in her 'session' before the cavalry had arrived, but far enough that he needed a few days inpatient to recover. And even though he was relatively healthy and Scarlet was in custody, Peggy was on the hunt for the true P.I. and whatever information he had about her operation.

He also asked this, because if this was how she was now, he could all too well imagine how she had been while he was missing.

After a moment's consideration, Rose shrugged her shoulders, "Eh, somewhat worse than when Mr. Stark or Dr. Wilkes went missing but not as bad as when Jack was shot."

Upon seeing his self-satisfied smirk that he outranked those two at least in Peggy's affections, she proceeded to burst his bubble by observing, "I don't know if the difference between Jack and you is because you were merely missing and he was shot or Thompson is a better buffer between the troops and War-path Peggy than you ever were."

Not really taking offense that Jack knows how to better manage Peggy than he does, but not being able to resist (pain-killers really help one's sense of humor), he reasoned, "If it's the last, it's probably because he knew that for every angst-ridden tongue-lashing he got, there would a kiss later to make it better."

She snorted, "Too true."

And then as Violet swept into the room to give him yet another I'm-so-happy-you're-alive kiss, he could hear Rose mutter, "Speaking of…"

~A~

Later, as Jack was walking Peggy to her door, he asked impishly, "So, Marge, is it going to cost me my goodnight kiss, if I say 'I told you so'? Ya know, for Danny-boy being found alive and all?"

Peggy reached over and punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow! What was that for?" he whined, while rubbing his now bruising limb, as that was no love-tap.

"Well, I'm not going to deprive myself for your stupidity and tactlessness, now am I?" she replied curtly.

For once, he wisely kept his mouth shut, and stored this useful bit of info for later use.

He also made sure that his Marge did not end the evening feeling at all deprived.


	41. Confessions

**Moments**

* * *

 **Confessions**

* * *

"I have a confession to make," Peggy abruptly announced.

The nasty, roiling, and rising bile that had been attempting to climb up his already closing throat, from his already failed attempts to fight back a panic attack, solidified and formed into ball of ice that plummeted to the pit of his shrinking stomach at her words.

This was not good news, whatever it was. Peggy hardly ever felt guilty for anything, because she generally always believed she was right, and for the most part, she was. So if she had to make a 'confession' – it had to be really bad.

Also, her timing was ominous and terrible. They were currently under fire from a crazy Swede who was demanding that they bring him _'The Formula'_. It was truth serum or hypnosis-inducing serum, a fact which was currently irrelevant, as they were trapped behind a granite-topped oak kitchen island, with a quickly depleting supply of bullets (a situation that their opponent did not seem to be suffering judging by his liberal spraying of machine gun rounds), and back-up was too far out to do them any good. So if this moment of truth could not wait until they were out of this pickle – again, it had to be bad.

That, or she was just trying to keep him from freezing under fire again.

"I, uh, hear that's good for the soul. So..." he paused his very witty retort to pop around the corner of his half of the island to fire off a few more shots. When he ducked back, he panted dryly, "I'll be sure to hook you up with Father Allen."

She shook her dark head and protested, "No, I don't need a priest. I know – " She paused to duck as the wine glasses on the drying rack shattered above them. After returning fire, she fixed him with her most soul-searching of stares and confessed, "I know that you have a ring and you plan to propose."

Jack found his jaw dropping and his mind whirling a thousand different directions. _'How did she know? Only two people knew – his Gam-Gam and Nana Maria – and they would never tell… When did she know? … Why bring this up now?'_

He must have voiced some of these thoughts aloud, because in between dodging another spray of the Swede's bullets and their ricochets and returning her own round of fire, she declared, "Not …the…point, Jack… I just wanted you to know that I – "

 _"Give me vhat I vhant!"_

" – say yes," Peggy finished resolutely, as if the trigger-happy terrorist was nothing more than an annoying gnat.

But Jack knew better. Jack knew that they were both down to the last of their spare guns, and the cavalry was not here yet. Jack knew that she could only be saying this for one reason, and it filled him with futile rage.

"Goddammit, Marge!" he hissed furiously, "We are _not_ going to die here! So you can shove that goodbye speech up - !"

"Die?" Peggy asked, her eyes wide with disbelief before filling with defiant fire, as she hissed vehemently back, "Screw that! We are going to survive this. And _you're_ going to propose to me at Musso  & Frank's just like you planned."

Over the sound of the Swede reloading, Jack found himself absurdly and desperately blurting, "But you already know that plan."

"I know," she agreed, smiling softly at him. Her dark brown eyes filling now with both love and determination, as she urgently demanded, "Promise me that you won't give up here, Jack. And – and that you'll be there with your Gam-Gam's ring?"

Jack looked at her – his fierce warrior woman with her dark curls in disarray and shimmering with broken shards of glass – and knew that he would follow her to the ends of the earth and back again, and no maniacal bastard was going to deprive his Marge and him of that adventure.

"I promise."

~A~

They did indeed survive that deathtrap.

As if Jack's promise was the inspiration she needed, a plan formed in her mind. Grabbing various cleaning ingredients, a dishrag, and the last remaining undamaged milk bottle, she jerry-rigged a Molotov cocktail that the Swede never saw coming.

A week later, she found herself at Musso & Frank's grill, enjoying their Grenadine Beef and the most nerve-wracking dinner with Jack.

If she could fire-bomb the Swede again, she would. If it hadn't been for him, she would have never experienced that moment in which she knew Jack had given up and was contemplating doing something terribly idiotic and self-sacrificing for her sake.

If it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't have made that panicked confession or those demands, and Jack wouldn't know that she knew his intentions for tonight and thus would not be able to torture her with that knowledge like he was tonight.

And was he ever torturing her, keeping her in ever bloody suspense.

Throughout their dating relationship, he had never used his suave silver-tongued wiles on her. For one, he knew that she would see right through it and that she would not appreciate it, and for another, he knew (she hoped) that she had fallen for the man beneath the persona that he presented to most of the rest of the world.

So why by all that was holy (or unholy for that matter) was he being charming and debonair and flirtatious now?

She had first suspected that it was because he was as nervous as she was and so he was hiding behind his armor. But then when he had smirked at her slight disappointment that there was no ring floating in her champagne or hidden in her dessert, she began to suspect him of secretly enjoying the rare occasion of having the upper-hand.

Peggy began to resign herself to the fact that the proposal would not actually be _at_ the restaurant, when Jack asked for the check, and she fully came to accept it, when he escorted her to the front.

But then after he had assisted her with her evening wrap like that willowy blond chit so long ago, he circled around to her front and dropped to one knee.

There was a collective hush throughout the restaurant, even her blood quit pounding behind her ears, as Jack took both of her hands in his and declared, "I know that you already said that you would say yes, but I got to ask you…

"Will you go dancing with me after this?"

Peggy reeled as confusion reigned.

Her blood returned to its pounding...

That was not _T_ _he Question_...

There was _no ring..._

And there was mischief dancing in his blue eyes...

Would he really be this cruel?

And then…

He let go of her right hand to pull out the ring.

It was beautiful and elegant with its simple gold band and platinum face, in which six rose-cut diamonds circled like daisy petals the larger cushion-cut center. Her favorite detail was that each diamond was set within a starburst engraving, making it that much more radiant, but yet in an understated way. It would not be worth much in the current market, but it was rich in its history of love, or so Nana Maria had made sure to tell her, not long after he had asked his Gam-Gam for it. For that reason alone, it was perfect.

When she was able to raise her eyes from the ring to meet his, she saw that his mischievous gleam was replaced with fervent earnestness, and she heard his voice rasp with emotion, as he quietly asked:

"And then, will you dance with me at our wedding?

"And in our kitchen after the kids have gone to bed?

"And at our 50th anniversary?

"Our retirement party?

"Our welcome to the nursing home party?

"And –

"Yes!" she interrupted with a tearful but joyous laugh, much to their audience's delight as well as Jack's. More softly, she promised, "Yes, Jack, all of that."

Jack's shoulders sagged in relief, and he flashed her that soft contented smile of his that always turned her to mush, even as he hastily slid the ring onto her finger, as if he was afraid she would change her mind before he did so.

When she didn't pull away, he stood up and slowly tugged her to him, whispering huskily into her ear, "Good. Because, my dear Marge, I must confess that I can't imagine having any other partner but you."

* * *

 **A/N:** Love? Moderately like? Hate? Favorite part?

Also, an image of the ring can be found here: diamonds in the library (dot com) / store- profile-sweet-heirloom-vintage-on- etsy/

It is the second picture down, if you're curious.


	42. Meet the Carters

**Moments**

* * *

 **Meet the Carters**

* * *

As soon as they got comfortable, or at least as comfortable as one can in commercial airline seats for a long transatlantic flight, Jack leaned over and asked her, "So, how did I do?"

"Well…"

~A~

 _A few days ago…_

"Okay, what's the verdict? Spill," Peggy ordered quietly, as soon as her sister-in-law Sylvia entered the kitchen.

This was the first time that the two of them could be alone. Sylvia's father, her father, her brother Benji, and Jack were fiddling with her father's new radio in the front room, and her mother was occupied with the baby – allegedly trying to put Peggy's niece asleep but judging by the coos and giggles coming down the hall that was going to take a while.

And so was the answer to her query, judging by Sylvia's exaggerated 'thoughtful' expression.

After pouring herself a glass of lemonade and taking a long sip, her sister-in-law finally mused, "Well… you certainly have a type."

"A what now?" Peggy blurted, as this was so not what she was expecting.

"Yeah, tall, blond and pretty," she replied, her hazel green eyes twinkling with mischief. They only seemed to twinkle all the more as she added with even more faux thoughtfulness, "It's a bit creepy though. He doesn't look like Fred so much as he kind of looks like Michael."

As soon as she computed that last bit, Peggy found herself choking on her own sip of lemonade. And wishing for something stronger. Brain bleach maybe.

Her expression must have been priceless, because Sylvia was struggling greatly not to laugh outright in her face, while she rubbed and patted her back soothingly and half-apologetically asked, "Oh? Did I just ruin your wedding night?"

(This was the problem with her brother marrying the girl next door – she could be more like a sister than one could want in an in-law at times.)

When Peggy quit coughing, Sylvia continued more seriously, "On a more pleasant note, I think he's _the_ keeper. I have never seen you this happy since…well, I suppose, since the war started."

Peggy thought back over the years, and she had to agree. Smiling softly, she admitted, "I think so."

Sylvia eyed her for a moment, assessing the truth of that statement, and when she seemed to be satisfied, she gave her a decisive nod and declared, "Good. Because if you try to bail on this one, for whatever noble or ignoble cause, I will chase you down and hogtie you to the altar until you say 'I do'. I am not going to spend another six months listening to your mother bemoan yet another Great Escape."

~A~

 _The next day…_

"Come away from the window, dear, and sit with me," her mother ordered, patting the seat on the sofa next to her. "The boys will be back before you know it."

Peggy sighed and turned from the window. It's not that she was anxious about being separated from her fiancé, nor was it at the fact that he was going to be on his own with her father and older brother. No, she was jealous to tell the truth. They were going off to watch the Oxford-Cambridge boxing match, and the only reason she was not downright furious at Jack for leaving her alone with her mother was because he promised to place a bet of her pocket money on the Cambridge contestant, even though he was rooting for Oxford.

What she was anxious about was having the inevitable conversation with her mother about her opinion on Jack. She was almost thirty, had been an intelligence operative in a war, and had taken on countless deadly enemies of democracy and freedom since then, and she was still terrified of her mother and needing of her approval. Peggy was afraid that she would never grow out of that.

Accepting that she could no longer avoid this conversation, she sat down next to her mother and finally bit the bullet, asking, "So what do you think?"

Amanda Carter gave her question considerable thought, pausing in her knitting even, before answering circumspectly, "Well, he's certainly personable…"

Peggy bit her lip, knowing that tone of voice all too well, and though she was afraid of the answer, she put her big girl panties on and prompted hesitantly, "But?"

With a great big disappointed sigh, her mother complained, "He's _American._ "

Unladylike laughter burbled up, escaping her lips in a half-choked snort, she was so surprised by her mother's reply. When she finally regained her composure, she dryly pointed out, "Look who's talking, Mum."

Her mother waved her hand dismissively, "I know, but this is different. He's not staying here like your father did. Can't you two get transferred to the embassy here or something?"

She smiled gently, touched that her mother missed her so much and that this was the only fault she had found in her chosen life partner. "That's not in the cards right now, but maybe someday."

Reaching over and patting her hand, her mother declared, "I can accept that and hope for the best, dear."

When her mother drew away, Peggy thought that would be the end of it, but then her mother's face brightened as she gushed: "And just think! You two will make such pretty and handsome babies!"

Inwardly Peggy groaned.

~A~

 _Later that evening…_

From her seat by the fire, Peggy watched Jack stumble into her parents' house and struggle to hang his hat and scarf on the coat-rack. Both fell to floor.

"Good lord! What did you guys do to him?" she hissed accusingly to her father and brother as they filed into the house behind Jack.

Thankfully, her mother had already gone to bed, or she might have recanted her approval of Jack being the father of her grandbabies.

Before they could defend themselves, Jack slurred in a hushed stage-whisper, "Shweetheart, I now know 'ow ya'can drink the boys-sunder - under - table. Yerr fam'ly has _quiiite_ the conshi-too-shun."

And after that declaration, he then proceeded to throw his arm over her shoulder to tug her roughly to him and announce in her ear, "I'm goin' to bed now." And then sloppily kissing her on the cheek, he concluded, "G'night, Marge."

She glared at brother, who was doing a poor job of hiding his gleeful smirk at Jack's behavior and/or at Jack's favorite name for her, and ordered with false sweetness, "Benji darling, do make sure he gets there in one piece. Will you?"

Being a smart man, her brother, he quickly agreed saying, "Sure thing, Peg-leg," but he continued to grin, as he took Jack out of her hands to guide him up the stairs to his room, enjoying himself far too much.

In order to distract her from her worry-induced wrath, her father poured her drink from the decanter and observed, "I have to admit – I was surprised to hear that your new young man was the same coworker who used to give you such a hard time at the office."

"Used to?" Peggy snorted.

At this, her father arched an eyebrow, advising dryly, "Don't quit your day job for sales, dear."

She grinned, "Not a chance," and then more somberly, because she knew that her father wanted more for her than good genetics and a healthy bank account, she confessed, "I'm a strong-minded woman, and he keeps me in check."

Her father said nothing in reply to this, knowing her well enough to let her fidget and think in peace while she composed her defense. After a few minutes, she quietly shared, "I know I won't be an easy person to live with and that I need someone who won't fold when the going gets tough. Jack's proven that to me."

From behind her, her brother interjected, "And to us as well, believe it or not."

Peggy didn't. For that would have been too easy. Arching her own eyebrow, she scoffed, "Oh really? What did you do? Give him the prerequisite 'Don't-break-her-heart-or-else' speech?"

"Yep," Benjamin chortled, as he sauntered over to the other end of her sofa. Plopping down, he reported, "And he took it like a champ. Didn't do more than blanch a little and then declared and I quote: 'Well, thank you for explaining the consequences to me so thoroughly. I will have to remember that speech for when Marge and I have our own daughter one day. I don't think it is legal for me to even _insinuate_ some of those things in my interrogation sessions'."

"Yes, and your brother was so impressed by this that, not only did he remember your young man's speech verbatim, he decided to reward him and get him schnockered to the gills," her father was quick to point out.

In true Julius Caesar-to-Brutus fashion, Benji protested, "Oh ho! It was _just_ me was it?"

~A~

 _Present day…_

"Well…you and that silver tongue of yours certainly charmed the pants off my mother," she finally answered.

Jack made a startled choking sound next to her, and while she patted his back he gasped out, chidingly, "Marge, _please_ … refrain from using the words … 'tongue' and 'pants off' … in the same sentence as my … future mother-in-law."

Peggy grinned (and blushed), "Duly noted."

After the stewardess kindly supplied him with some water, Peggy resumed their conversation, noting, "Even my father was impressed, how did you manage that?"

Jack shrugged, before slyly asserting, "Oh, I just told him that if I was willing to take bullets for Howard Stark just to keep you from getting hurt, imagine what else I would be willing to do."

 _'Yep, if brother-dear confirmed his story, then that would do it'_ , she thought to herself. To him, she sighed exasperatedly, "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

Instead of making some teasing retort or some snark about Howard, Jack shifted in his seat to interlace his fingers with hers, fixed her with his most sincerest of gazes, the kind that let her see into the very depths of his soul, and then declared with devout earnestness:

"No, I will never let you go."


	43. Career Paths: SHIELD

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** 50,000+ views! Aces ; )

Anywho, as always...Enjoy!

* * *

 **Career Paths: S.H.I.E.L.D.**

* * *

"Anders!"

"Jesus, Carter! Give a man a heart attack, why don't ya?" Anders exclaimed in protest of her sudden popping of her head in through his half-cracked window.

"A girl with my kind of heels on this brick-laid sidewalk should not be able to sneak up on an agent when he ought to be on high alert," she chided. Before he could mount a defense or Jack could object to her scolding his man, she ordered, "Anders, take a long walk, the kind that will have you back by bars' closing."

Anders looked over to Jack, his team lead and current stakeout partner for permission, but when Jack's look clearly read as _"You heard the lady"_ , he quit hesitating and swiftly gave up his seat to do as ordered. He also wisely did not comment on her commandeering the stakeout, so that she could have more time with her fiancé.

As soon as he was out of hearing range, Jack drawled with an impish grin, "So to what do I owe the pleasure, Carter? Could you just not bear to be away from me for another minute?"

She rolled her eyes, "No, we need to talk."

His grin faded and he swallowed nervously before warily remarking, "Well, those are never words a man wants to hear from his girl."

She didn't roll her eyes this time, but she did wave her hand dismissively, "Oh no, it's not about us – well, not completely that is."

"Uh-huh," he grunted, clearly not believing her. But could she blame him? In his defense, it wasn't the clearest of assertions.

To provide some clarification, she declared, "It's about Howard's offer."

Jack arched his eyebrow and quipped, "Which one? You mean the one to take you out and show you how a 'real man' shows you a good time? The one to relive the good ol' times of putting the 'fun in fondue'? Or the offer to – "

At her cool glance, he ceased his whining and played innocent, "Oh, you mean his global intelligence initiative that he wants you to spearhead?"

"Yeah that one," she agreed wryly.

He shrugged one shoulder, while casually checking the storefront he was supposed to be surveilling, before answering, "I think you should do it. Lord knows we need something like that. Hydra certainly has proven that it knows no borders, and I don't think that Langley or the Hoover lads are going to take them as seriously as the S.S.R. did."

Peggy did not miss the bitterness in Jack's voice, despite how much he tried to play it cool. Whether it was due to the ongoing willful ignorance of the leaders of America's two biggest intelligence agencies or whether it was due to the fact that the S.S.R. was being decommissioned along with several other war-time intelligence agencies now that 'peace' prevailed was difficult for her to tell. Either way, Jack had a reason to be unhappy.

"I'm glad I have your support," she acknowledged.

"But?"

"But…it wasn't just me that he made that offer to, you know. As much as Howard needles you about our relationship, he is smart enough to recognize that we're a package deal," she gently chided, but when she did not get the ready assurance that she was expecting and he continued to not meet her eyes, she found herself hesitantly stating, "Unless, of course, you decide to not to …"

Jack shifted in his seat, buying himself some time before he admitted defensively, "I haven't decided anything yet, Peggy. I'm considering my options."

Peggy tried not to take offense or make this personal. Jack did have quite a few options. Langley, of course, was always in need of good agents, being in its nascent stage of development. The Bureau was also developing its counter-intelligence division. It also needed agents who were familiar with scientific jargon for its Laboratory division. Rumors also had it that the Justice department was forming an agency to track illegal fire-arms sales and gun-runners. All of which Jack Thompson was well-qualified for.

But not taking offense was very hard to do, so she found herself asking, "Are you hesitating because now that we are getting married you are trying to keep our personal lives separate from our professional? Or is it that you don't want your wife to be your boss?"

Jack's blond head whipped around at her words and he exclaimed, "Hell no, Carter! What in the world have I done to make you think that?"

This time it was her turn to shrug indifferently, as she answered, "Well, it's more like what you haven't done – you haven't been talking to me about what you think since all of these changes were announced after we got back from seeing my family."

He reached over and interlaced his fingers with hers, stating remorsefully, "I'm sorry. It's just a lot to process and…"

"And?" she prompted when it looked like his walls were going to go back up.

"And I don't like Stark," he blurted with a sigh.

He said it so bluntly and baldly, almost like a petulant child, that he startled a guffawing laugh out of her that eventually petered into a few sputtering snorts, and when she was able to recover her breath, she declared with barely concealed amusement, "No shit."

He scowled at her, retorting, "No seriously. If I have to work closely with the man on a regular basis, in addition to seeing him on social occasions because he is your friend, I'm gonna hit the guy – and not just once."

Trying to keep a straight face (because he sounded more petulant than ever), she attempted to reassure, "Well, I don't really see that as that much of a barrier, Jack. For one, knowing Howard and I, I'll probably slap him a few times myself in the coming years. And for another, as director and founder, I can make sure that you have limited contact with him. Moreover, in your hiring contract, we can include a clause that you are allowed a limited number of hits to his august person."

"Once a year?" he bargained hopefully.

"Once every five years," she countered.

"Hmm. Maybe," he replied, as if he was actually finding this a persuasive argument. And if that is what it would take to convince him, she would make sure that Howard would agree to it. (The millionaire eccentric probably would too, just to be able to say that he had made such an allowance that no other bureaucratic agency would).

After a moment of contemplative silence, Jack asserted, "I want it on the record that my wanting to think about it has nothing to do with concerns about how our personal lives affect our professional lives and vice versa. We have proven so far that we can maintain that kind of balance."

"Okay, it's duly noted," she agreed patiently.

" _And_ it is not because I do not want to work under a woman or _my_ woman," he declared. He sounded extremely offended at the very idea that she thought that this might be a problem, so much so that she was about to apologize, but before she could do so, he ruined the moment by leering, "And just for future reference, I don't mind you _on top_."

There were so many things that she could say to that comment, but she knew if she did, they would get off topic. So instead, she blandly prompted, "Uh-huh. And if not those, then what?"

It showed how truly far they had come that he didn't respond defensively at her continued prodding, but he took the time to be as open and honest as possible when he answered:

"I don't know about you, but I have been thinking on how this is going to play out. If this experiment fails, you will be crucified. But if this succeeds and your fiancé and later husband is part of its development and operations, then it will be just like the Dr. Ivchenko/Fenhoff situation all over again with the big wigs trying to give me all of the credit. And I don't want to do that to you again."

She reached over and patted his hand, smiling gently as she reassured, "That's sweet, but as I am sure you are aware, I can handle male chauvinists and their _ass-_ umptions quite well. My pride and ego can take it."

He looked at her in disbelief. "Even if some think you are boss in name only?"

"Even then."

He nodded his acceptance of this, seeming somewhat mollified by her assurance, and she thought that was the end of it, but when he continued to shift in his seat as if he was uncomfortable and acting as if he did not want to meet her eyes (all of this more than what was normal on their stakeouts), she began to question that assumption.

Well no, there was no 'began to'. She did.

"Jack? What else is holding you back?"

She was amused to see in the glow of a nearby streetlight that Jack was flushing a deep shade of pink.

After muttering a low curse, he turned to face her and blurted:"Look, you're going to be building this organization from the ground up. Right?"

"Right…" she agreed slowly, not sure where he was going with this.

"So, the way I see it. It's going to be your baby. And it should be your baby, not our baby. I want our baby to be _our baby,_ one day, possibly, if you know what I mean."

By the end of this speech, Jack was turning (if it was at all possible) an even darker shade of red, while she on the other hand was flushing for an entirely different reason. She certainly had not been expecting it to go _there._

 _'Good Lord, it's a damn good thing that I decided to have this conversation in a somewhat professional and public setting. If we were at either one of our flats right now, I might lose all sense of propriety and – well, Angie's phrase of 'jump his bones' comes to mind.'_

She of course did not say any of this aloud. He was still on the job after all, and she should not distract him with that kind of temptation.

Instead (once she recovered the use of her voice), she picked at a nonexistent piece of fuzz on her pant-leg with her free hand and breezily declared, "Oh, that's too bad. I mean, while I was going to head up the training and operations, I was thinking of using that silver tongue and schmooze-factor of yours to have you as our liaison to the U.S. government and also be an inter-agency mediator. But if you would rather be a G-man…"

Jack, being her Jack, picked up on her desire to change the track and tone of conversation. Leaning back and tossing her that half-smirk of his, he asked, "'Schmooze-factor', huh? Don't you mean my excellent ability to kiss-ass?"

She, in kind, retorted with a grin and dramatic toss of her dark hair, "You say to- _may_ -to, I say to- _mah_ -to."

Somewhat more seriously, he conceded (but still smirking), "It has potential. And 'Agency Liaison' has a nice ring to it."

Before he could say 'but', she declared with a decisive nod of her head, "Good. And now that I still have time to spare with you as my captive audience… Fish, beef, or chicken for the reception?"

And because he was _her_ Jack, he did not bemoan the fact that he had given Anders permission for a _really_ long walk. Nor did he shrug her question off with a pat and condescending 'you are the bride – you decide'. No, instead, he cocked his head as if in deep thought, giving her question its due consideration, before declaring:

"Well, darlin', it depends on the kind of fish."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hee, hee. Stakeout chats, got to love them (or at least I do). Let me know what you think.

Also, just a forewarning - I only have a few more story-lines in my plot-well for this series, all geared to wrap this up. If my Muse spews out anymore one-shots, I will be adding them to my _Scenarios_ series.

Thank you all for your continued readership and encouraging feedback. It has been an awesome adventure ; )


	44. Daniel's Speech

**Moments**

* * *

 **Daniel's Speech**

* * *

 _Clink. Clink!_

"Attention! Attention, everyone!" Daniel cut into the hubbub. "As the mistress of ceremonies and fair maid of honor, Miss Martinelli, has so kindly directed me, it is now time for me to give you the Best Man's Speech."

The general hubbub of the dining hall quieted as all eyes turned expectantly to the dark-haired man.

"A speech that I have so earned the right to give as I was the one of the few in our mutual circles who put his money where his mouth was in support of this relationship…" He smiled unapologetically at some of the disapproving frowns at this admission and matter-of-factly defended his actions with: "Yes, yes, I confess I and my colleagues at the New York branch were and have been betting on the love life of these two. And, Wallace, I have not forgotten that you owe me."

Over most of the crowd's amused and indulgent chuckling, he continued, "The office pool was originally instigated by Ramirez, who opened a book on how long it would be before our Deputy and his partner were to take out their work frustrations by – what is that Brit term again? – oh yes, _snogging_ \- by snogging each other senseless. Unfortunately for many, their professionalism prevented such an occurrence and many gave up hope.

"I however held out. Not for something so tawdry, but for the mutual affection, adoration, and respect that we see here today. I held out because although Jack, my friend, you are, no offense, a bastard, Peggy makes you a _tolerable_ bastard."

"No offense taken. It's all too true," Jack magnanimously declared, giving his Marge's hand an affectionate squeeze. She (noticeably) did not protest in defense of her groom at Daniel's statement or at his next. In fact, her smile got even bigger.

"Peggy, I am still not sure what he brings to the table for you, but I do know that you and he are better as a whole together.

"I also know you two will not have a 'happily ever after'. No one ever does, and the two of you are too … _independent-minded …_ for it to be smooth sailing.

"But I do wish you two many happy moments together that make all those stormy moments that life throws at you - and you throw at each other - worthwhile."

Raising his champagne flute, he concluded:

"To Peggy and Jack Carter – er – _Thompson._ "

Again, there were indulgent chuckles (and a few heckles at the surname 'slip'), as all joined Daniel in raising their flutes and repeated word-for-word his toast - even Jack.

* * *

 **A/N:** If I were ending it here, I would conclude with:

"And they shared many happy moments together until the end of their days – including every one of Jack's requested dances with his Marge and then some."

But as I am not, please, stay tuned for the actual wedding day ; )


	45. Unforgettable

**Moments**

* * *

 **Unforgettable**

* * *

 _~The Dress~_

 _Peggy:_

She stared at herself in the mirror. And did not recognize the girl whose image was reflected back at her.

Unlike the time she had similarly stood examining herself in wedding finery in 1939, she was not bothered by the truth she saw but the lie she did.

Then, what she had seen was a girl who was not being true to herself – a girl who played it safe for the sake of a man's 'good' opinion.

Now, she saw a blushing bride, nervous for the upcoming 'Event' of her life.

She, Peggy Carter soon-to-be Thompson, was not a blushing bride. She was not nervous. And this was not ' _The_ Event of Her Life'.

She was confident. She was excited and therefore flushed. She wanted to stride down that petal-bestrewn aisle and lay claim to her man. She wanted to get this society-required ritual over with so that she could start her next adventure with Jack, her partner. It would be an adventure that she was sure to be filled with many events – some good, some bad, but all _with_ him.

As impatient as she was though, she did have to admit she looked damn fine in her dress.

It was white satin with ivy pattern stitching and long sleeves. The neck-line was a deep V-neck with a wide collar. The bodice hugged her curvy form down to her hips, where it flared out and fell in a bell-shape with a small train behind her. Her veil was lace and hung from a coronet of silk flowers. Her something borrowed was her mother's pearl necklace.

One of the best features (she had to agree with Angie on this) was that it was easy to get out of – more importantly to be _helped_ out of.

And with that rather risqué thought, she really did blush.

~.~

 _Jack:_

He knew the highlight of most weddings, the thing that everyone wanted to know about at any of these blasted shindigs was _the_ dress.

Later, he probably could describe what his beautiful bride was wearing, but for the life of him, at this moment, when he was first seeing her in it, he could not tell you a darn thing.

Well, it was white. But it could have been a white flour or potato sack for all he took note of it.

No, instead, all he could see or care about was _her._

She was breath-taking, her smile was radiant, and her brown eyes were fierce as she locked her gaze with his.

In them, he could see that she shared his sentiment.

And it was all he could do not to stride up the aisle and wrap her up in his arms. Even when she was finally at his side and her father placed her hand in his, it took every ounce of self-control he had, not to swallow her up in his embrace and crinkle her finery before shouting his vows for all the world to hear and then dashing out the side-door with her in tow.

She must not have been wearing a potato sack, or else he just might have attempted it.

~The Ceremony~

 _Peggy:_

The ceremony was beautiful – or so everybody told her afterwards.

She herself could not recall much of it. It must have gone according to plan, because she was sure she would have noticed awkward pauses or nervous giggles or tittering if there had been any.

She did remember the reciting of her vows. She remembered the crooked smirk of Jack's as she stuck to 'love and honor' rather than to 'love and obey'.

She remembered getting misty-eyed at his fierce declaration to 'love and honor' her ' _all_ the days' of his life.

When they had been choosing the wording of their vows neither one of them had wanted to even allow Death the power to sunder them.

She remembered the giving of the rings, the tenderness with which he slid hers onto her finger and the immense satisfaction she got at placing her platinum mark of her eternal claim to him on his finger.

She definitely remembered the kiss.

As soon as Father Allen gave Jack permission, he swept her up in his arms and staked _his_ claim for all to see.

It was a slow but passionate kiss that was filled with promises.

 _~.~_

 _Jack:_

He didn't remember much of the ceremony.

But he did remember Peggy.

He remembered the feel of her soft warm hand in his.

He remembered the rapid beating of her pulse that he could detect beneath his thumb's gentle caress.

He remembered how soft but confident her voice sounded as she declared her vows, how her eyes dared him to laugh or challenge her as she chose the word 'honor' over 'obey' (as if he could actually believe that would ever happen by now).

He remembered seeing the tears pooling in her dark eyes at his vowing to love her always. He remembered silently promising to try to never be the cause of unhappy tears. If such a feat was at all possible, if he wasn't such a flawed man, he might have voiced such a vow aloud then and there.

He remembered sliding her wedding band on her finger and seeing with satisfaction how well it looked next to his Gam-Gam's ring. He had chosen that ring because out of all the marriages he knew his grandparents' was the one that was filled with love. Theirs had been a true partnership, one that was about equality and honesty, rather than image. And that was what he wanted for him and Peggy.

He remembered the territorial gleam in her brown eyes as she slid his band on his finger. It did things to him that he only thought was fair that she experience as well, so he retaliated with his kiss.

He remembered noting that not only was her dress white but it also felt satiny beneath his fingers as he gathered her to him. He also remembered noting that while her lips tasted as divine as usual, they were pliant and unresisting. He took full advantage of that, knowing that this was indeed a rare occasion.

Most of all, he remembered her breathless gasp of _'I love you'_ over the cheering of their audience as soon as he broke away and her soft laughter when he returned the sentiment, _'And I, you'._

Most importantly, he remembered their witty barbed exchange out of the corners of their smiling mouths that let him know that this was not all just a dream:

 _'Well, you bloody well better, as you are stuck with me for life, dear-heart.'_

 _'Mrs. Thompson, there isn't a prettier and more loved ball-and-chain out there.'_

 _'Damn straight. And don't you forget it.'_

 _'Never.'_

~The Honeymoon~

 _Peggy:_

Seven blissful days later, she woke to the glorious sight of _her husband_ sprawled next to her.

The sun was streaming through the windows of their vineyard bungalow as if it was as eager to kiss his skin and touch his golden strands of hair as she was.

He was a tantalizing temptation spread out like that with their bed's sheets lying low on his hips. His pale form was slightly tanned now, as they had not spent their entire week indoors exploring one another. (They had also gone on walks and explored the vineyards and the paths down to the beach and even the nearby picturesque little town.) Jack even had a few more freckles – each of which were calling to her to kiss them.

"Woman, thy name is Succubus. Insatiable, you are," he drawled sleepily.

"Are you really complaining?" she chuckled huskily.

Rolling over so that he could throw his arm across her and tug her closer into his side, he mumbled mid-yawn, "No, j-j-ust no-noting a fact."

"Good."

She lay there peacefully next to him, enjoying the feel of him – all warm and firm and _hers_.

She enjoyed knowing that the initial awkward discomfort of getting to know one another intimately in a physical way was mostly over.

And it had been awkward. Noses had been bumped, knees had gone in the wrong places, and _un_ -arousing caresses and positions had been discovered. But they had persevered with their good humor intact.

She loved that she could lay there and be content, with no more walls, emotional or otherwise, between them.

She loved that for once she could be confident in a relationship, that she knew that even though their idyllic, unforgettable vacation from the world was almost over – their bond was stronger than ever.

She loved him, Jack Thompson, her husband, her friend, her partner.

"You purr any louder, and I will expect you to sprout fur, _mein Kätzchen."_

"Well, kiss me, and _maybe_ you can keep your kitten quiet, _mein Kuschelbär,_ " she challenged.

With a heavy sigh, he rolled over again so that he was on his back and she lay sprawled on top of him, her hands intertwined with his above his head, their noses barely brushing one another.

And then with matching huskiness, he breathed, "As my lady-wife commands," just as his lips thoroughly lay claim to hers.

Bloody hell, she loved this infuriating man. And she would love him forever.

 _~.~_

 _Jack:_

He had never been so happy to be pelted by foodstuff than when their wedding guests had bombarded them with rice in their final send-off.

He had never been so happy than when he and his Marge had become man and wife in every sense, when he could kiss every inch of her and only need to stop when she told him to (which she hadn't, rather he had distinctly heard her say 'more' quite demandingly, multiple times).

Even if their love-making hadn't been the smoothest of sailings, it had been them _together._

His Marge had been just as insatiable as he was, and more than adventurous.

God, he loved her.

He loved that he could wake up to her every morning and just hold her, morning breath and all.

He loved that she had yet to run screaming from their little vineyard bungalow, from him.

He loved … oh there were too many ways to count.

And finally, he had never been so happy as when he had carried her over the threshold into their new little two-bedroom house. For when he had announced, "Honey, we're home," she had looked into his eyes and with all earnestness had declared:

"Jack, when I am with you, I am always home."

"Damn straight, Mrs. Thompson," he had declared with a low growl before ensuring his wife and partner never forgot this essential fact.

~A~

And so began the (mostly) ever-so-happy adventure of Mr. Carter - ( _beg pardon_ ) - _Mr. Thompson_ and his Marge.

* * *

 **A/N:** Stay tuned for the epilogue.


	46. Mementos

**Moments**

* * *

 **A/N:** I originally had like only 6 plot ideas for this series when I first started, now 40 chapters later... ; D

But if you want to read more Cartson one-shots and are sad to see this end, I bring tidings of great joy - I have a few plots already in mind for _Scenarios._ So stay tuned.

Anywho, for our final feature presentation...

* * *

 ** _Previously on Agent Carter: Moments…_**

Their interrogator glanced down and gleefully read again the inscription on the carefully preserved and formerly thought to be well-hidden napkins:

 _"I vow to only kiss you, even then only when you are S.D.102 free."_

 _"I vow to never kiss any man, but you, Sweet Dreams free."_

* * *

 **Mementos:**

 **The Epilogue**

* * *

 _Spring 1988_

"Where did you find those, sweet pea?"

Jack curiously asked their 14 year-old granddaughter as she gleefully stared down at _The Napkins_ and re-read their incriminating inscriptions.

With a too-casual, nonchalant shrug, she answered, "Behind your marriage license."

Jack's eyes narrowed, "And your sudden interest in our legal documents was…?"

Noticing Ruth's slight anxious shifting, Peggy interjected and chidingly rebuked, "Good lord, Jack! This isn't an interrogation."

Jack shot his favorite (and only, so far) granddaughter a sheepish look, while mutinously muttering under his breath, "Oh yeah? Where have you been the last half hour or so?"

Peggy rolled her eyes at this, but was pleased to see her granddaughter relax. She even giggled a little, before answering Jack's question. "It's for school. We have to do a presentation on the lives of our heroes."

Jack, being Jack, was predictably mollified by this blatant stroking of his ego and puffed out his chest. She, however, was slightly alarmed and felt the need to caution: "Well, that's very sweet of you, darling, and as exciting as it would be to tell your class about our adventures as agents, most of what your grandfather told you, especially that bit about Ms. Underwood is still classified."

At Ruth's look of disappointment (including sad wide brown eyes), Jack caved.

"Your Mum-Mum is right, I suppose, like she usually is. _But…_ if you are wanting a few good tales, human interest pieces as it were, there is a tackle-box in the garage marked with a 'M'."

At his words, Ruth's demeanor radically changed. Her hazel eyes brightened to amber as she beamed happily at him before bolting out of her chair and straight to the garage, her coltish limbs narrowly missing the lamp on the side table as she sped on by.

As soon as she was out of ear shot, Peggy teased, "Sucker."

Jack unabashedly shrugged, stating slyly, "What can I say? I have a type."

Peggy arched an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"Yeah, pretty ladies with big brown eyes," was his taunting reply, which was accompanied by his trademark smirk.

Much to her annoyance, she not only rolled her eyes again, but she also blushed. Even after all these years, her husband still had that kind of effect on her.

She was saved from his gloating comment to that effect by Ruth re-entering the room, lugging in with her the 'M' labeled tackle-box.

As soon as she set it on the coffee table, she popped open the latch and threw the lid open as eagerly as a pirate would a treasure chest. Peggy was unable to resist her curiosity and peered over Ruth's shoulders to see what was inside.

When she saw its myriad and assorted contents, she could not help but huff, "Oh, you are a sentimental fool."

Jack flashed her an impish grin, his blue eyes dancing with mischief as he cajoled, "But you love me anyways, don't you, Margaret darling?"

Eyes once again flicking down to the contents below, she admitted softly, "I do."

Their granddaughter looked back and forth between them, clearly not understanding the significance of the box's contents, as it must look like junk to her.

Taking pity on her, Jack, with the soft smile that he reserved only for 'his girls', gently instructed, "Go ahead and pick an object and we will tell the story behind it."

Without having to be asked twice, Ruth dove in and began sorting through the various and miscellaneous items, obviously trying to find one with the best tale first.

She shunned the sports memorabilia – a baseball, a signed player's card, a program, and tickets. The last was a pity in Peggy's mind as one of them was stub for the Las Vegas boxing game that they had gone to. That was the night that she and Jack had kissed and made up over a long standing argument about Ethan Grey, and the night that Michael was most likely conceived.

Then again, Ruth might not want to hear about how her uncle came to be.

Instead, she picked out a cheap plastic picture frame that held what looked to be…dried mistletoe.

"This one."

~A~

 _December 1958_

"I am glad you could make it tonight," Mr. Jarvis declared as soon as he reached her side.

She smiled warmly in greeting and teased, "Well with as many hints as you and Anna were dropping, how could we not?"

Howard Stark was throwing one of his many infamous Christmas – well, _revelries_ was the word that came to mind. What made this one special however was that tonight he had also announced to the world that his sweetheart of 6 months (a world record in and of itself) had agreed to marry him.

"He is truly lucky. Maria is one in a million," she noted as she watched the sweet yet vivacious woman skillfully handle all of Howard's smarmy business associates as they offered their congratulations.

From behind her, Jack arrived from his mission of getting more drinks just in time to offer his opinion.

"What I just can't decide is if that means she is a one in a million saint or a masochist."

Her instinctive response was to reach back and elbow him chidingly in the gut, but that particular move of hers must have become predictable because he nimbly dodged her and reached over to hand Jarvis the flutes of champagne he was holding.

Jarvis took them automatically, even while he was sputtering his protests, "How many times…Not the butler…'Executive Assistant' now…kindly remember, Mr. Thompson."

Peggy too was protesting, sighing exasperatedly, "Really, Jack?"

Jack grinned, "Really, Marge," and then with his now free hands, he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her soundly.

~A~

 _Spring 1988_

"Ah! That was the mistletoe that I finally got to kiss your grandmother under. It took me ten years, but I finally managed it," Jack declared happily and more than a bit smugly.

"Managed it?" she scoffed. "You got lucky that Jarvis and I were standing there in its vicinity. _And_ Howard's announcement distracted me."

"Hmm… we'll just have to agree to disagree on that one," he asserted, his pride in his 'accomplishment' un-deflated. To Ruth, he said, "What's the next one, Poppet?"

Ruth reached in and chose a worn and faded poker chip.

Peggy squinted at it curiously from behind her now necessary bifocals and asked after a few moments, "Is that Fisher's?"

"Yep, from when we first became official S.S.R. partners in New York, and I knew that I was a goner. And not just because you ambushed me in the alley."

The smoldering look that he sent her made her heart race and her face warm – symptoms which only got worse when Ruth next pulled out: _The Red Feather_.

"That is from a Halloween party we went to while in London, setting up a S.H.I.E.L.D. branch office," Jack explained matter-of-factly, and then his smirk, which can only be classified now as a fond leer, was spreading across his face as he added, "I went dressed as Yankee Doodle Dandy in honor of always being referred to by everyone there as your Mum-Mum's 'Yank husband'."

Fortunately, Ruth's gaze was fixed on her and she missed her grandfather's sly smirk. The rest of the tale of the feather's significance was not appropriate for a young girl's ears.

"What did you wear, Mum-Mum?" she asked quizzically.

"A cowgirl costume, I believe."

Jack's blue eyes lit with mischief as he leaned down and whispered conspiratorially in Ruth's ear, "And believe you me, she looked darn cute in her little boots with spurs. She even had a lasso rope that she tied me up with for fun later."

Before Ruth could ask 'why would that be fun?' or ask why her grandmother looked so flushed, Peggy reached into the tackle-box and pulled out something at random.

At first, Ruth didn't look as if she was going to take the bait, but as soon as her eyes lit upon her mother's name – Ellie Thompson, she became much more interested.

"Why do you have a school report card of my mom's in here?"

"Ah… if you read further, you will notice that this is no ordinary report card, my dear," Jack enthused dramatically, "But a _disciplinary_ card – your mother's first."

Sure enough, Mr. Douglas Donavan, the principal of Ellie's middle school at the time had expressed his shock and 'disappointment' that their daughter had such violent tendencies, telling of how she had given one boy a black eye and another a 'very sore groin'.

"And this made you proud because…?" their granddaughter asked, obviously not entirely believing the smug grin he wore on his face.

"It proved that she could defend herself," Peggy supplied.

"And in so doing, she proved that she was her mother's child," Jack added. "A fact that your Great-Gran loved to point out."

Oh, how Amanda Carter loved to crow at the fact that Peggy had a daughter 'just like her'. When Ruth came along, Peggy herself had kind of hoped to get her revenge on Ellie, but the powers-that-be had been merciful towards her daughter and Ruth had taken instead after her father, quiet and studious Jeremy Sousa.

In point of fact, instead of asking for more details about her mother's fight, she moved onto yet another memento and selected...

A tarot card.

~A~

 _May 1952_

"What in God's green earth are you wearing, Angie Martinelli?"

It was probably very rude of her to ask this of her guest first thing in the morning, but she hadn't had any caffeine yet and her friend really was wearing the most outlandish costume.

She wore a sky blue peasant blouse and a red peasant skirt, and she had accessorized it with over a dozen multi-colored bangle bracelets on both her arms, a red-and-blue bandana scarf in her hair, tying her for once untamed curls back, and large brass hoop earrings dangled from her ears.

Angie didn't take offense at her rudeness, but did at her question, asking with a slight pout, "What? Is it not obvious?"

Jack, who was standing at the kitchen counter sipping away at his source of caffeine, offered his guess, "You're a gypsy because…you are auditioning for Esmeralda in _Hunchback of Notre Dame_?"

Both she and Angie stared at her usually classics-challenged husband in disbelief.

"What? I read," he protested.

Before she could reply to that, Angie interjected, "Yes and no. I am a gypsy, but I am auditioning for a part as a fortune teller, not a street dancer." Shuffling the tarot deck that had been on the table in front of her to emphasize her point, she added eagerly, " _And_ because you were so close, I am going to let you be the first I read for."

Jack again surprised her by shrugging and saying, "Okay, I'll bite."

As soon as he sat down, Angie began her little show – shuffling the cards and having Jack pick four. Peggy would have enjoyed watching this production, but she _really_ needed some tea. The smell of Jack's coffee was making her stomach queasy, and so was the thought of having to interview that vile Zola man again later today.

She did however listen with half an ear as her friend went about her 'reading'.

"This first card is the Four of Wands. It indicates that you have had a significant milestone celebration that has bearing on the present."

"Well, if it is a milestone celebration, wouldn't it be significant?"

Ignoring him, Angie continued, "The next card is the Page of Cups. It signifies creative energy and often heralds good news, which seems likely in conjunction with the Ace of Cups here, your third card. You, Jack, are going to be offered the opportunity for some fulfillment."

"Look, Marge, my cup overflows," Jack called out, waving the card that depicted a hand holding a chalice with five overflowing streams.

Peggy sat down at the table next to him and dryly retorted, "Not surprising considering how often I have to clean the kitchen counters of coffee rings. _I_ would count it a blessing if your cup was for once was less than full."

Angie made an annoyed sound at their domestic interruption, so she hastily mumbled, "Sorry, Madame Martinelli. Do continue."

She did, flipping over the last card with a dramatic flourish to reveal…

"Ooh, the Empress."

"What? Is she the woman who is going to take away all my good fortune if I am not too careful?" Jack asked skeptically.

"Oh no, while she is an impressive lady with her scepter and shield, you have nothing to fear from her. She is not reversed," Angie reassured.

"Reversed?"

"Yes, if it had been facing the other way, it would have indicated a block to your creative energy, but it's not. And in conjunction with these three others…Hmmm…"

"So all four cards mean what?" Jack prompted, barely able to hide his smirk at her friend's dramatic pause.

"It means that within one year, you are going to be a father."

As soon as the words left "Madame Martinelli's" lips, Peggy felt her face drain of all blood and her right hand automatically mirroring that of the woman's on the card, which was hovering protectively over a well-rounded stomach.

Hers wasn't 'well-rounded' but if she were interpreting all of her symptoms correctly, it would be in … "Oh damn."

At her words, Jack quit his teasing of Angie (he had been pompously giving her recommendations to make her audition reading be 'more doom and gloom as Hollywood showbiz loves that stuff'), and turned to look at Peggy.

"Marge, are you alright?"

She took a deep steadying breath and then while a slow smile spread across her still pale face, she answered, "I expect I will be in eight or nine months or so."

Jack stared at her flabbergasted. For once her man of quick wit and suave words was speechless.

Angie, however, was not. Glancing back and forth between them, she exclaimed gleefully, "Damn. Am I good or what?"

This seemed to be the prodding he needed, because in one moment he was sitting there frozen in shock, and then the next, he was removing the tea cup from her death-grip so that he could safely draw her into his arms and whisper softly into her ear:

"No, she's the best."

~A~

 _Spring 1988_

"And a little less than nine months later, your mom Ellie was born."

"How come I have never heard that story before?"

"Because it is not as entertaining as when Grandpa Sousa learned he was going to be a daddy," Jack defended with a chortle.

Ruth had no argument to that as the poor man had fainted, falling into Howard Stark's pool, and needed to be given the 'kiss of life' by none other than Jack Thompson, who never let him forget.

Instead, she asked, "Did Auntie Angie get the part?"

"No, according to her, they had already cast the part but were using the audition as a 'contract negotiating tactic' or something of the sort, I think," Peggy answered with a shrug.

Ruth shrugged too, muttering something along the lines of "Hollywood showbiz", before diving back into the tackle-box and pulling out … a singed swatch of cloth.

Peggy froze staring at that poor scrap of material and feeling quite uncertain as to how she should react. For she knew what significance she attached to this particular memento, but she did not know what Jack did and she was almost afraid to find out.

She glanced at Jack and saw that slow sly smirk of his spreading across his face to the point of downright smugness, especially when his own assessing glance took note of her blush.

"That is from our first couch," he explained to their granddaughter, almost blandly, but then with far more significance but not quite a leer, he added, "I have _a lot_ of fond memories attached to that couch."

Peggy did too. And this was yet another one of his memory-lane talismans that had far too many not-fit-for-her-young-ears'-memories attached to it, so she interjected tartly, "You were fond of being exiled to the couch, were you?"

Seeing where she was going with this, Jack played along even while his blue eyes twinkled roguishly. "Not fond of it, no." And because he gave as good as he got, he retorted, "But I seem to remember choosing to come out here half the time due to your snoring."

"Snoring! Me?" she huffed in outrage.

Just as Jack was going to dig himself further into a hole, Ruth saved him by asking, "But why is it burnt?"

"Well, in a fit of pique your Mum-Mum dragged it out into our backyard and set it on fire."

At that lovely revelation, Ruth's eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open in almost cartoon-ish astonishment. With that one sentence, the man completely destroyed her dignified image in their granddaughter's eyes forever. Wonderful.

"Did I? I don't recall."

It was a very poor dodge on her part, which was not at all helped along by her fiddling with her cup of tea, but it was the best she could manage.

Ruth, the perceptive and kind child, did not press her further but looked questioningly to Jack for more details.

He of course obliged, stating, "Yes, she did. When an old chum of mine came to visit, he let drop that the sofa his parents had gifted us for our wedding was the same one they had had when I was in high school just re-upholstered."

"And why was that a bad thing?"

Not trusting Jack to be fully honest in his explanation, she blurted wryly, "He also had fond memories attached to it with his friend's sister, who was his once-upon-a-time high school sweetheart."

The dear sweet teenager seemed to accept this as adequate justification for her overdramatic fit of jealousy, if her pursed mouth and little nod was anything to go by. Her piercing brown gaze seemed to be asking her grandfather how he dared to have any sort of fond memories of anyone other than her Mum-Mum.

Jack, of course, acted as if he did not see the unspoken question, concluding with an unapologetic shrug, "A day after my friend left was the sofa-kindled backyard bonfire, and four days after that we had a new sofa." (They might have gotten one sooner, if Jack had not been so determined to keep her in bed all weekend in order to convince her just how much he loved her; his pride in that accomplishment may be one of the many reasons he was so fond of that couch.) "And that lasted until about 6 months later with the…" He looked quizzically over to her and asked, "…Schindleman case?"

"Schmidt."

"Yeah, Schmidt case, where they came and slashed up all our furniture looking for – "

" _Ahem._ "

"Oh never-mind," he sighed resignedly. "That's definitely still classified."

Looking both mildly intrigued and more than a little disappointed, Ruth returned to the tackle-box and pulled out a clip-on maroon bowtie.

"Is this connected to anything classified?"

Jack reached over and took it from her, apparently needing the tactile contact to remember. When he did, his eyes lit up again as he merrily recalled, "Oh, that is from the night of your uncle's first school dance when he asked me how it was that I knew your Mum-Mum was _'The One'_."

"Well, you must not have done a very good job explaining," Peggy scoffed, "because I lost count how many 'the ones' that boy introduced to us over the years…"

And so their trip down memory lane went.

~A~

 _A middle-school classroom, the following week…_

"My heroes are my grandparents. Partly because they fought in wars and since then have fought to prevent wars, but mostly because they have fought to and succeeded in keeping their love alive, even nearly 50 years later…"

Ruth concluded her show-and-tell presentation, locking eyes with one set of brown and one set of blue, each shining with pride – and not at all with tears (hah!), as she said:

"Their love story is not a heroic tale in that they are star-crossed lovers who meet a tragic end, nor is it because she is a princess in need of constant rescue by her knight in shining armor. No, it is because it is filled with a lifetime of cherished moments like these.

"For that reason, when I grow up, I want to have a story just like theirs."

~A~

 _'You think I don't know why, Oh but I do_

 _I know that it's you that I love.'_


End file.
